


Plastic Pearls

by BabylonsFall



Category: Leverage
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Brief Brush with Angst, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Fluff, Getting Together, Kid Fic, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 07:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16511615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabylonsFall/pseuds/BabylonsFall
Summary: When Parker and Hardison move to Portland to get a change of scenery, they pick a place almost at random. Lucky for them, they end up across from single-parent Eliot . Though the relationship between Eliot and Molly is clearly a little rough around the edges, he's trying his best, and Molly, in turn, has learned to copy his glare impressively well.Neither Hardison nor Parker are looking for anything life-changing, and, frankly, Eliot's had his fill of life-changing events for the next couple of years. (Too bad for them then.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my second entry for the Leverage Dual Bang 2018! It was supposed to be the first but uh. Life happened. So. Here we are!
> 
> Couple of thanks to give out first. First, to my awesome partner in this, [asterlark](http://asterlark.tumblr.com/), who has been amazingly patient with me, on top of making an [amazing playlist and a beautiful aesthetic board](http://asterlark.tumblr.com/post/179741290963/plastic-pearls-this-this-was-not-eliots) for this work! (Seriously, go check both out!)
> 
> Second, thank you to [Roshwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roshwen/pseuds/Roshwen), for betaing up until I had to sprint to finish the last bit. Amazing and amazingly helpful, as always.
> 
> And third, thank you to the Mods of this awesome bang for being understanding and patient with how many times I had to move/delay my posting date, and for organizing this event in the first place!
> 
> That being said!!
> 
> Title is pulled from "Beautiful World" by Bon Jovi, and I hope you enjoy!

_Eliot_

 

This? This was not Eliot’s fault.

In any way, shape, or form. But, blaming his six year old was a couple shades of unfair.

So, he blamed the neighbors. Which he felt was honestly the best choice, all things considered. This was completely their fault.

* * *

Eliot didn’t really ... know about the neighbors. The new ones anyway. Everyone else on his floor? Them he knew—and damn well too, considering his normal lack of social graces. But the new ones in the apartment across from his? News to him. That apartment had been empty ever since that old hippie Mr. Quint had moved out—some retirement plan in India or something. Nice enough man. A few too many screws loose though.

Either way, that had been...six? Seven? Seven months ago. That the apartment had actually stayed empty that long was a bit of a surprise, if Eliot stopped to think about it. But, he hadn’t. So coming up the stairs—the elevator was a crapshoot most days, let alone in the fall with the temperatures going every which way, so it was just easier to go up a couple flights of stairs occasionally—to see moving boxes piled just outside the door was unexpected.

Molly running ahead of him was less so. He couldn’t quite catch her before she was out of his reach and bolting down the hall—she was too curious for her own good, half the time.

“Come on now, leave ‘em alone.” It’s half a complaint at best—he’s not sure his new neighbors are even in the apartment right now, since the open door shows a slice of an as-yet empty living room, but no people.

And then a head of blonde hair pokes out one side of the door and nearly gives him a heart attack.

“Hi.” The woman’s not even looking at Eliot. Her big bright eyes are trained right on Molly, who’s looking up at her with all the curious suspicion a six-year-old can muster. It’s quite a lot. Eliot’s been on the receiving end of that look more time than he cares to count.

The woman raises an eyebrow when Molly doesn’t visibly react to the greeting, but doesn’t seem too put out, grinning a crooked, but no less genuine smile instead, stepping out from behind the wall and crouching down to Molly’s height. “I’m Parker. What’s your name?”

“...Parker’s a funny name.” Eliot couldn’t help the snort if he tried. Which he didn’t. Instead, he stepped forward to scoop Molly up, settling her on his hip, which she handled both without complaint and without breaking eye contact with Parker, who stood up to follow, giving him his first actual look at the woman. All lean lines and narrow features, straight blonde hair pulled up into a tight tail, eyes curiously skittering over them in a way that had Eliot wondering how much energy it was taking for her to hold still.

“That’s not really nice, Botasky.” Hey, if his kid didn’t want to give out her name to a stranger, he wasn’t going to make her. Pointing out that it might come off as rude couldn’t hurt though, if only to avoid yet another angry person questioning his parenting skills. Molly breaking eye contact with Parker long enough to shoot him a thoroughly unimpressed look told him she saw right through it too. “Yeah, well, it’s not.” He shrugged, glancing at the woman, who, rather than looking offended, honestly just looked...amused? Maybe? She was a little stiff about it though, so maybe Eliot was reading her wrong. “I’m Eliot. We’re right across from you it looks like.” He offered out a hand to shake, which the woman took after a moment’s hesitation.

He couldn’t find it in himself to be too offended though—she looked startled for a moment, not disgruntled or anything. Everyone had their quirks and all that.

“...’m Molly,” Molly muttered, more into Eliot’s hair than to Parker. Parker didn’t seem to mind though, if the big grin was anything to go by.

“Well, nice to meet ya Moll-”

“Hey, babe, who’s at the door?” A man slid—literally, mind you, socked feet across hardwood and everything—into view, ending up more or less leaning against the door frame after a truly impressive save from what would’ve been a fall on his ass. He’s as much lean lines as his partner, but with a solidness behind his frame that makes him look just this side of gangly with the mismatch. He wears it well though, with a soft smile and an energy Eliot can trace as his hands refuse to stop moving. They’re an interesting pair, standing there together.

“Eliot. And Molly. They’re across from us,” Parker explains, while Eliot offers over a hand to the man as well when it looks like Molly’s not going to say hi again.

“Ah, cool, nice to meet you, man. I’m Alec. Everyone calls me Hardison though,” Hardison took his hand without a second’s pause, his firm grip a heck of a lot more sure than Parker’s had been. “And nice to meet you too, Molly,” he added, when Molly risked turning just enough to peek over. He shoved his hands in his pockets, rewarding the look with a big smile, just as bright as Parker’s had been. Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see Molly offering a small smile in return.

Eliot was about to say something—an offer of help, given the boxes strewn about the hallway—when Molly tugged on his hair. Nothing alarming, but definitely to get his attention. So, he smiled as apologetically as he could manage. “Well, nice to meet y’all. Sure we’ll see you around, but if you’ll excuse us, munchkin needs a nap.” He could _feel_ Molly rolling her eyes at him, but whatever. Whether it was at the idea of a nap or him calling her munchkin, he had no idea, but he knew she’d be telling him all about it later.

Hardison blinked then did...some kind of motion with his hands that Eliot was going to take as ‘go on’. “Sure, sure, yeah, ‘course, don’t let us keep you. And if we get too loud with the moving and hauling, just let us know, we’ll try to keep it down for a bit.”

Now it’s Eliot’s turn to blink. But, the offer seemed genuine, so he just nodded, smiled, and headed back to his own apartment, easily shifting Molly enough to get his keys out to unlock the door.

He feels Molly let go long enough to wave behind them, and the giggle he’s pretty sure comes from Parker confirms it.

Not a total disaster of a first meeting at least.

* * *

It’s not that Molly is... _shy_ . She just has opinions. Very, very strict opinions. About people. All people. As of last week, she only liked five-and-a-half people even. And that would be Josie, her kindergarten teacher; Randy, the neighbor kid; Randy’s mom, Ms. Trent; Toby, Eliot’s boss; and Trevor, the _other_ neighbor kid. Eliot was the half, depending on how the day went.

No, wait, six-and-a-half. He’s pretty sure she thinks Amy hung the moon. He’d have to see if she wanted to babysit again anytime soon.

Point was. It had taken two months for Molly to march up to Toby and properly introduce herself—which Toby, bless him, had taken as seriously as she had, crouching down to her level despite his knees, and formally introducing himself in return, again. She’d been absolutely delighted.

So. It could take Molly a little while to decide to talk to people. That she seemed willing to do so with the neighbors within ten minutes of meeting them was a win that Eliot was going to take without complaint.

* * *

Hardison and Parker were...well. Hard to miss, yet, also, apparently, almost impossible to find. After that first meeting, Eliot didn’t see them for another week and a half. Not that he was actively _looking_ for them. But they were a close bunch, up on the fourth floor. Eliot babysat Randy as much as Ms. Trent babysat Molly (...maybe more on his end. But, hey, good for her, getting out of the house. Just because _he_ didn’t have any plans didn’t mean the other single parent on the floor shouldn’t).

If someone was knocking at his door, it was either Trevor (hauling Randy along) escaping from his very nice but very busy parents, or Amy, coming to steal half of whatever it was he and Molly had baked recently before disappearing back into her apartment to study. Dr. Laroque ( _Diana, please_ ) may not have been a pediatrician, but when he’d moved in, the floor already knew to go to her for minor worries with the kids.

(And, she was the only one not too look at him with big, worried eyes when he’d come tromping in with a wide-eyed Molly on his hip without warning. So, points to her. He tried to make sure he cooked an easy-to-reheat meal for her once a week, given her hectic shifts at the hospital.)

Point was. Even if everyone rarely actively _saw_ each other, and most of them didn’t know anyone on the floors below them, they still all kind of looked out for each other. Informally. They were all kind of shut-ins, if Eliot thought about it. Except for the kids of course.

So, quick conversations in the hallways, groggy waves at the mailboxes as someone came in and out, kids knocking on all the doors, occasional food deliveries and baked bribes...the usual. But the new neighbors were nowhere to be seen in all of that.

At least up until he came up the stairs Monday morning after his run—as much a part of his routine as dropping off Molly at school at nine, going into work at noon, picking Molly up again from the afterschool daycare at six, making dinner at seven, tucking her in at eight-thirty, most days—and found Amy chatting with Parker.

He offered a wave to the women, and a small smile—Amy looked good, which meant that final she’d been stressing over last week had probably gone well. He’d ask her when she next came by to filch the cookies he knew Molly wanted to make this weekend—intending to head right past them.

A hand caught his sleeve on his way past, and he felt himself tense, just the slightest. Breathe. Smile. Turn and gently pull away—Parker’s hand dropped, but the sharp look she gave him let him know she hadn’t missed that at all. Rather than raising a fuss, she just rolled her shoulder, arms crossing over her chest. “Sorry. About Molly.”

“...Huh?” Parker hadn’t even seen Molly in a week and a half. And, to his knowledge, she’d been on her best behavior for the last week. Discounting telling Trevor he could go fu...well. He knows exactly where she learned that, so he couldn’t really get mad at her, and seeing her get that mad over the boy cheating at whatever game they were playing probably shouldn’t have made him laugh, but whatever.

Parker raises an eyebrow at him, expression telling him it _should_ be obvious but he just. Couldn’t pull up anything to justify her sudden apology. Her shoulders went stiff, her fingers curling in her shirt sleeves slightly as she visibly worked through something. “...It looked like she was...uncomfortable? Meeting us?” is the explanation he gets a couple moments later.

“That’s just Molly. Her and strangers don’t...mix.” He offered after a beat, still kind of just blinking. Not too many people noticed Molly’s reticence, or, if they did, tended to just blame it on her being rude. Which, she _wasn’t_. Not really. He had to admit though, he was kind of touched. “Just ask Amy. First time they met, Molly told her she could call her M and that was it.”

Parker blinked and glanced back at Amy, who was already nodding and grinning. “Took her a week to come knock on my door, tell me ‘You’re cool. My name’s Molly.’ and run off again. It was pretty cute.” Amy offered, grinning slightly when Parker snorted.

“See? Don’t worry about it. She likes you just fine if you already got her name.” He paused, already half-turned to head to his apartment to mumble, “...Thanks, though.” Parker shoots him a look then, a little too... _knowing_ for his liking, before giving him a bright grin and turning back to pick up whatever her and Amy had been talking about.

Well. He’d had weirder conversations.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hardison_

 

In Hardison’s defense, when he’d first met Eliot and his kid, he hadn’t really been paying attention. He’d focused long enough to get an impression of a serious face with a thin smile, windswept hair not quite held in place by a tie, and slouchy sweats (that the man somehow made look not in the least bit lazy, which was just not fair). Oh, and the equally serious-faced kid on his hip.

In the two weeks that had followed, he’d somehow been drawn into a meet-and-greet with everyone on the floor—to the point where he was getting suspicious about it being a staggered, planned attack. It was … weird. But nice. It had been a long, long while since he’d lived someplace where the neighbors genuinely seemed to care about the people next door, and, from what he could tell, they were a good bunch.

He hadn’t seen Eliot again though. And he’d only seen Molly one other time, when he’d looked out into the hall to see where the herd of elephants had come from and come face to face with three kids—one utterly unrepentant about interrupting his nap (Trevor), one with too-big doe eyes (Randy), and one with the most impressive unimpressed look he’d ever seen on a kid that didn’t even reach his hip (Molly). They’d all given the most insincere apology he’d ever heard, and went right back to chasing each other.

Point was. It took him a moment to connect the child currently standing at his door with the only neighbor that hadn’t seemed to go out of his way to drag Parker and Hardison out of the apartment.

(Amy had wanted to show them a coffee joint a block away, which, bless her. Ms. Trent had popped up with a casserole dish of … some kind. Hardison hadn’t asked. It had tasted _amazing_ though. Trevor’s parents—whose names he hadn’t actually caught whoops—had insisted they come in for a drink, which had been … well, again, weird but nice. And Dr. Laroque ( _Diana, I insist_ ) had dropped by to at least say hi a couple times, as well as stopping both of them at the mailbox on her way out or back from a shift.)

… _Point was_. It took him a moment to recognize Molly. The fact that it was also roughly 7:30 in the morning, and by rights he shouldn’t be awake for another … five hours, at least, didn’t help.

Parker had grumbled at the knock and promptly kicked him out of bed to go check, and he was still reeling from the injustice of that, honestly.

When he _did_ recognize her though, he frowned and crouched down to her height, taking a moment to look her over for anything out of place. There was nothing immediate that he could see though—perfectly neat jeans and purple shoes, clean striped shirt, hair in a complicated looking relative to a french braid, wide grey eyes just watching him through all of this. “...Hey, Molly. What’s up?”

“Eliot’s running late.” Hardison blinked, glancing over her head at the neighbor’s door. She’d left it open, but the light was off, so all he could really see was a vague impression of a couch and a table, soft light filtering down the hall telling him where Eliot likely was.

“Okay … and you’re here because…?” He looked back down at her, honestly just confused.

“And Miss Amy’s sleeping and Eliot said she had a big test yesterday so I shouldn’t wake her up. But standing around is _boring_.” She honestly sounded so put out that Hardison had to bite down hard on a laugh, schooling his face into something vaguely serious to match hers.

“You’re right, it is. Where’re you two heading off this early?” His calves were starting to hurt, crouching down like this. But, well, it shouldn’t take that long. Hopefully.

“School.” There was that unimpressed look again, like she was just absolutely _done_ with the very idea, and Hardison had to grind down another urge to laugh.

“Not a fan, huh?”

She emphatically shakes her head, tail of her braid swishing around wildly.

“Well, then that sucks,” he offers sympathetically, tone as full of appropriate gravitas as he can make it. “But there’s gotta be something about it you like, right? I mean, can’t be all that fun, just waiting for it to be awful.”

She shoots him a narrow-eyed, suspicious look, eyeing him up and down for a long moment. “...Miss Josie’s okay. I guess.”

“You sound real sure there.”

“Sometimes she tells stories from when she was little. Did you know she stole a car?” Before Hardison can actually react to that—which, for the record, he would have, because _what_ —she leans in, voice dropping like she’s sharing a secret, “She says she was joking but I think she really did. We’re not supposed to tell anyone.”

Laugh or question. Laugh or question. Laugh questioningly? “That’s uh. That’s cool?” He was definitely going to be asking Eliot about that later.

“You can’t tell anyone!” Molly added, narrowing her eyes up at him.

He snorted, biting back a grin and held up a hand. “I solemnly swear I won’t tell anyone.” Well, there went asking Eliot. Maybe he could ask around it? (Yes, it was a promise to a six year old who probably wouldn’t know the difference, but still. It was a _promise_. And the way Molly lit up with the first big smile he’d seen out of her and nodded decisively was adorable. He didn’t want to ruin that is all.)

“Molly?” Hardison blinked, glancing over the girl’s head into the apartment behind her. Eliot still wasn’t in sight, enough muffling to his call that he was probably still in the hall. A quick look back down showed...Molly blithely ignoring it.

“Uh...your dad’s calling you?” he tried, raising an eyebrow. She just raised one back at him.

“Eliot’s not my daddy.” She didn’t offer up what he _was_ , just. Seemed content with that correction. And Hardison didn’t really know what to do with that besides slide right past it because he knew a minefield when he saw one.

“Okay, well, he’s still calling you.” And she still didn’t move, just stood there watching him, head cocked to the side.

“Molly!” And that tone was just the slightest bit stressed—wary or angry, Hardison couldn’t tell, but neither option was really great.

“She’s out here!” he called back, offering an apologetic smile down to an annoyed looking Molly. She didn’t seem too impressed, but since she didn’t pitch a fit, he was starting to figure that that was just her default. There was the sound of a couple of heavy steps—Eliot hit him as a man too adult to go sliding anywhere, even in a panic, so, fair—before Eliot rounded the corner of the hall, eyes a little too wide, shoulders a little too stiff for Hardison’s liking. A smile and a wave though, and he seemed to make himself relax, though Hardison couldn’t be sure if it was because of him appearing harmless, or getting his sights on a safe Molly.

“I’m so sorry, she doesn’t normally-” Eliot paused, blinking, then sighed, slumping a little further with a tired huff that Hardison thinks is supposed to be a laugh, “Okay, that’s a lie. She didn’t wake you did she? I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine. Sounds like a rushed morning, and I’ve got nothing to do for a bit.” Besides sleeping, but that wasn’t going anywhere, “I don’t mind.”

Eliot didn’t look like he believed him, but, thankfully, he didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed a bag from the wall by the door—an almost offensive shade of aqua blue that took Hardison a few seconds to recognize as a small backpack—hitching it over his shoulder and stepping out to lock the door behind him. “Still. Don’t be afraid to tell her to go home next time,” Eliot offered, ignoring Molly’s huff.

Hardison shrugged, pushing himself to his feet, shaking his head slightly with an easy grin. “Man, it’s fine, promise.” Eliot shot him a narrow-eyed look—too similar to Parker when she was trying to figure something out, working it over slowly in her head, for him to take offense. Sometimes it took people a second, and he was cool with that.

The smile he got in return—small, tired, but genuine—was worth it.

It wasn’t a dramatic thing—one smile didn’t take years off of him, didn’t make him soft or approachable really. Rather, it rounded out a few edges, let Hardison actually _look_ at the man, rather than just his too sharp eyes. Broken in jeans (worn out but not quite fraying at the knees), soft-looking shirt buttoned up over at least two t-shirts with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows—too baggy to cling, but Hardison doubted the layers had anything to do with the breadth in his shoulders. Oh, and meticulously braided hair—the same twisted, complicated plait Molly was sporting. Against the hint of scruff and over the muscled bulk of his shoulders, Hardison might’ve had to blink for a second.

Well damn.

Eliot scooped Molly up with an “And we’re very late, we gotta go,” before Hardison could form a more coherent thought, both of them heading for the stairs. Molly at least waved over Eliot’s shoulder at him, and he couldn’t help but smile and wave back.

He watched long enough to make sure Molly wasn’t going to make a break for it—doubtful, but the kid looked smart, so he wouldn’t put it past her—before shutting the door again. With a yawn, he picked his way across the battlefield of strewn boxes and paper that was their living room towards the hall.

The place was slowly coming together, boxes being unpacked and junk being put away, but neither he nor Parker were in any particular hurry. He had another month of enforced vacation ( _“I mean it Hardison. I’ll get Mason to lock you out if I have to.”_ which that was just insulting, but point taken) and Archie had told Parker to take all the time she wanted before showing up at the shop. Which meant she’d be there probably starting next Monday, since sitting still with no plans was just not something Parker did, but still. They had time.

Hence why the kitchen, bathroom, closets, and living room were still disaster zones. Their bedroom was about the only room they’d actually finished unpacking, and that was more because they literally couldn’t fit both the king-size mattress, two dressers, a desk _and_ a crap-ton of boxes in the room. Physics said no, so they’d sucked it up and unpacked everything vaguely bedroom related. Hell, they’d even managed to put up curtains.

It was _weird_. Like they were actual, functional adults. Or something.

(He could _hear_ Nate laughing at him, even in his head.)

Parker was still curled up under the thick comforter, the only part of her visible being a sweep of blond hair on the pillow and one arm flailed out from the tangle of blanket. The chances of her being actually asleep were nil at best, but he had to give her props for a convincing act.

He flopped down heavily on his side, laughing slightly at the squeak and the attempted swat that earned him when the mattress bounced. It took a bit of burrowing and a bit of untangling, but he managed to find Parker’s face amidst the mass of blanket. He grinned as she glared at him—no heat, and her lips pulled tight like they did when she was trying not to laugh. A quick kiss that earned him a huff—which, he had to follow that up with another kiss, even if it was kind of ruined by his laugh this time—before he rolled onto his back, stretching out with a groan.

Parker propped herself up next to him on her elbows, yawning and dragging a hand through her hair. And maybe he was smiling a little dopily at her by the time she looked over. Could anyone blame him? The light in the room was the rosy-gold of the early morning, turned a burnt orange where it filtered through the curtains. It did nothing to hide the tangles in her hair, the dark smudges under her eyes, or the rumpled mess of her tank-top. She was absolutely stunning—especially when she caught his look and rolled her eyes, even as she smiled softly.

She shoved a pillow in his face with a laugh, “So who was it?”

Spluttering and laughing himself, he had to take a moment to wrestle the pillow away, hugging it to his chest and grinning at her. “Molly. Apparently ‘standing around is _boring,_ ’ Eliot wasn't ready and she wasn’t allowed at Amy's or something. I feel kind of honored she picked us instead. Is that weird? It feels like it should be weird. Also, apparently, her kindergarten teacher stole a car? Possibly anyway. I’m not actually supposed to tell anyone so don’t say anything to her. Oh and has the neighbor always been that attractive?”

Parker blinked at him for a moment. Then another. Then she was burying her face in a pillow, shoulders shaking as she snorted out a laugh.

“It’s been two weeks. You only just noticed now?”

“Oh, so you noticed that too? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You think her teacher would want a job at the shop?”

“...I don’t think hiring a car thief for a mechanic is a good idea.”

“Why? They hired me.”

“Special circumstances. Are we not addressing you keeping some very serious intel from me?”

“You have eyes. Not my fault you didn't use ‘em. And is it special circumstances if Archie’s like. My half-dad?”

“Pretty sure that’s the very definition of special circumstances. And come on, he was all…‘serious face’ last time we saw him.”

“And?”

“And?! And….And so I wasn’t looking too closely! ‘Serious face’ guys almost always have a problem.” Parker snorted at him, effectively shutting down that protest. “...alright, so I just wasn’t looking.”

“Epiphany about the hot neighbor over then?” she asked, rolling over to press against his side in the least subtle demand ever for him to shift around to spoon her. He was only too happy to oblige, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Epiphany over,” half-broken by a yawn but understandable nonetheless.

“Good. Go back to sleep then.”

* * *

 

_Parker_

 

In some ways, Parker supposed it should probably be concerning how quickly the little coffee shop on the corner had become her and Hardison’s favorite morning place. Or afternoon place. Or evening place. Or all three. They slept at weird times, ergo, their “mornings” were at weird times. The place was open 24/7, so it didn’t really matter anyway.

It was a cute little place—just big enough for a handful of tables inside, a few more in the vaguely delineated “patio” area outside, decorated in a way Amy and Hardison assured her was intentionally mismatched—that was almost never empty, that she could tell. And when it got too crowded (when they went in during the actual morning), there was a park across the street—half playground, half winding trails and the like with plenty of benches. Perfect really.

And on days like this, it was even better. The autumn sun was too weak to burn away the dampness in the air, but still bright enough that standing in direct light was just warm enough to be comfortable. The morning chill still lingering in the shade chased most people wandering around inside, leaving the park relatively empty for a Sunday afternoon. There were a couple of parents and their kids over on the playground, but the walkway her and Hardison were sitting beside hadn’t seen a jogger or any of the like in the last hour.

“I can take the next two weeks. Archie won’t mind—you know he won’t. He said that specifically actually.”

“You could, but all that’s left is just...unpacking. And you got bored of that a week ago.”

“So did you.”

“Yeah, but when I’m bored I don’t start trying to figure out how to precariously stack dishware or set booby-traps on the window.”

“No, you deconstruct and then rebuild any electronics in a five foot radius.”

“...Fair enough. Point is, go to work. Learn the shop. There’ll be plenty of boxes to unpack still when you get home. Archie only wants you starting three days a week anyway right? Just to get you used to the shop, since he totally didn’t talk with Nate about getting us to cool it for a bit or anything.”

“You didn’t buy that either, huh?”

“Not in the least.” Parker snorted slightly into her cup—some odd concoction of sugar, whip cream, coffee and chocolate. She hadn’t bothered to ask the name of it since Amy got it for her the first time, and they were in often enough the small staff already had a pretty good handle on their orders. “They’re schemers and we never should’ve introduced them.”

“Why did we?” Hardison asked around a yawn, stretching out his arms on the back of the bench, his own cup apparently empty and hanging from his hand.

“...I think it was at a party and we couldn’t avoid it? Was it your birthday party or mine?”

“Yours I think. Archie didn’t come to mine.”

Parker nodded, accepting that, even if she couldn’t quite pull up the memory to back it up. Both the nights in question had been big things for the two of them—one with all of Hardison’s siblings and friends congregating at Nana’s, and one with all of their extended acquaintances crowding out that little pub in Boston. She honestly also wouldn’t put it past Nate to have reached out to Archie, or vice versa, on their own. They were meddlesome like that sometimes.

“You know, they might’ve just gone over our heads and figured out a way to get in touch with each other anyway. Or maybe they knew each other before—didn’t you say Archie was working in insurance for a little while?” Hardison continued, echoing her thoughts.

Parker grinned into her cup—figures they’d come up with similar ideas. “Not insurance, but he definitely had to deal with them. So maybe.”

“Either way, pretty sure it was an inevitability. So go, placate the man, then come home and we can pretend we’ll unpack those boxes in a timely manner.” He grinned at her. She rolled her eyes and gently bumped his shoulder, even as something warm settled in the pit of her stomach. _Home_.

Neither of them were settled, by nature. Too much time moving around while younger, too excitable now to stay put long enough to put finishing touches on wherever they stayed.

But this move...this move was good for them. It may not have been planned, and rushed in the execution, but it was what they needed. And if Hardison was already calling it home…

Yeah, this had been good.

Sighing softly, she settled in closer to Hardison’s side, biting back a grin as he stretched and yawned again, obviously, looping an arm easily around her shoulders.

They went quiet for a couple minutes then—just enjoying being out in the sun, the chill of the shade nearby clinging to the edges and giving the light a crisp edge. They hadn’t really been _out_ of the apartment in days—too busy unpacking, playing video games, sleeping...the usual really—so the quiet stillness was just _nice_.

Hardison tugging slightly at her sleeve pulled her from the slight daze she’d slipped into. Blinking and shaking her head, she glanced over, raising an eyebrow in question. He, in turn, motioned in the other direction, back towards the park.

It took her a moment to see _why_ , but she grinned when she did. There was Eliot and Molly, wandering over to one of the benches ringing the playground. Molly was doing her best to balance an oversized cup in gloved hands, not quite managing to walk in a straight line. They were too far away for Parker to see her face, but she could just imagine her little face scrunched up in concentration.

Eliot was following behind by about a step—Parker could just imagine the little girl insisting she had it, everything was fine, don’t help—another cup in one hand while his other was shoved in the pocket of a leather jacket.

“Good to know they actually do get out then. Only ever seen them going to school or...I think work? Maybe?” Hardison said after a couple moments of watching Eliot try to help Molly up onto the bench without spilling anything.

“...Didn’t we spend the last three days watching movies?”

“...Okay, but he definitely gives off an air of being a helluva lot more put together than we are.”

Parker snorted but nodded slightly. Eliot was definitely the neighbor they saw the least of, but what they had seen did suggest that he was about as together as any of their other neighbors. They were the odd couple out really, all things considered. Not that that seemed to be stopping their neighbors from trying to get to know them, which was...odd. But nice, if Parker really thought about it.

It was kind of like living near pub again—people that recognized them immediately, drew them into catch-up chats everytime they had a chance, people that seemed to genuinely care when they hadn’t seen them for a couple days. With less alcohol. Neither of which she was complaining about.

“Heads up, Molly’s spotted us.” A quick look back over proved that to be true. Molly was pointing right at them. Nope, now she was getting down from the bench. Parker grinned and waved, just in time for Eliot to look back their way. He didn’t immediately stop her at least.

With the few meetings they’d had with Eliot, Parker wasn’t really sure he actually...cared for them much. Not that he was mean or even standoffish. And hearing how he interacted with Hardison would’ve put that idea away anyway. But they had just seen so little of him, it was kind of hard not to wonder if that was on purpose. Like Hardison had pointed out, they’d only ever seen him leaving the apartment to take Molly to school or to go to what they were assuming was work. She was pretty sure she’d _heard_ him leaving other times. But seeing it was another thing entirely.

So they hadn’t had the chance to really. Talk with the man. Learn much about him. All they had were a few run-ins, and what the neighbors said about him.

A kind man who cooked for Dr. Laroque when her rotations were more extreme than usual, or for Amy when her university-student budget didn’t quite go far enough (always under the guise of having extra, of course). A patient kind of guy who didn’t mind watching both Randy and Trevor when their parents went out, despite even just one of them being an absolute handful, let alone both. A little rough around the edges, but always willing to help with last minute favors to anyone who asked. A little quiet, but always willing to listen.

They hadn’t seen...well. Any of that. Though, to be fair, they hadn’t seen anything to contradict it either.

They just. Hadn’t seen the man. Period.

Though, looked like that was about to change, as he hauled himself up from the bench and followed after Molly, now carrying both their cups as it seems she’d forgotten about hers on the table. Molly made a direct line for them, soon close enough that they could see a smile on her face—one of the first Parker was pretty sure either of them had seen from her.

Her hair was tucked up under a too-big beanie, her bright blue jacket zipped up all the way to her chin. She was absolutely adorable, even as she skidded to a halt in front of them, schooling her little face into it’s regular serious scowl.

Eliot visibly rolled his eyes behind her before giving them both an awkward wave and a half-smile himself.

“Hey, sorry, she got excited to see you. No matter what her face says right now.”

“Eliot!” She whined, dragging out the vowels. Hardison coughed, hand coming up to hide a laugh.

“Sorry, munchkin.” His face said exactly how serious he was about that, and the stink-eye Molly turned to give him showed exactly how much she believed him.

Hardison couldn’t quite hide the laugh this time, even as he shifted to rest his elbows on his knees, leaning down closer to her height.

“It’s all good. We’re happy to see you too,” he said warmly, genuine, grinning that big bright smile of his that Parker knew for a fact could melt any kind of ice. And it seemed to be working on Molly. Her narrow-eyed look relaxed a fraction, then a fraction more before she was smiling again, small and shy. “School turn out okay then?”

Her face immediately scrunched up again, more a pout than a glare though. “No.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“...Maybe.”

“Wanna tell me about it?” Hardison asked as he slid out off the bench, sitting cross-legged in the grass, all his attention on Molly as she perked up.

Eliot was kind of just blinking at the pair of them as Molly plopped down in front of Hardison and started giving him a very detailed rundown of her last couple of days at school. He might’ve actually looked a little shellshocked, if Parker was being honest.

She patted the bench beside her, only to roll her eyes and wave a hand in his line of sight before repeating the motion when she got his attention. He offered her a sheepish smile in return but took the invitation.

“...She doesn’t open up to people this quickly,” is what he starts with, a couple of moments later. Hardison and Molly are in their own little world, still talking about school, but somehow the question of what books they’re reading got brought up, with Molly giggling around explaining just how wrong Hardison’s guesses are. Eliot still has that vaguely surprised look to him, so Parker’s willing to believe him.

“Hardison’s just like that.” When Eliot looks her way, she shrugs. “Gets people talking, makes them comfortable. He’s good at it. Scary good.” She sticks her tongue out at Hardison when she catches the side-eye he gives her at that, only to bite back a laugh when he gives an exaggerated eye-roll in return. Molly doesn’t seem to notice at all.

There’s a cut off sound—something between a snort and a laugh—to her right, but when she looks back at Eliot, he’s just watching Molly over his cup of...whatever he got from the shop. He hit her as a straight black coffee kind of guy, honestly. But that could be because that was the flattest drink she could think of, and he was her flattest neighbor, personality wise. So far.

“She’s been talking about how he’s another Amy. Which I think means a cool adult. So there’s that.” Eliot says when he lets his drink drop again.

“Told you. He’s good.” They both go quiet after that, listening to Hardison and Molly chatter—Parker’s completely lost the thread of the conversation, because now there’s fairies and dragons—and the sounds of the city going on around them.

She doesn’t see so much as _feel_ Eliot slowly relax next to her. Where at first he’d been sitting with his elbows on his knees—ready to move forward in an instant, with how tight he was coiled, if Parker had to guess—he now leaned back against the bench, arms resting loosely where they lay. He wasn’t quite slumped, but Parker would bet this was as close as he ever got.

A closer look showed bags forming under his eyes, his hair far messier than she’d seen it before (not saying much, but still. She’d seen him _enough_ to get a sketch of an idea for the level of neatness he seemed to shoot for), and his shirt under the jacket wrinkled and loose.

He looked worn out. And she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to brush it off as it being a Sunday after a long week—but she also couldn’t give reason to the gut feeling supporting that. So, tucking that away for later.

“...Amy showed you this place, didn’t she?” His question brought her back to the moment, and if he was put off by the fact that she’d essentially been staring at him for the past couple of minutes, he didn’t show it. The question made her pause though, raising an eyebrow.

He raised his own cup in response before tilting his head towards hers. “It’s a little tucked away and doesn’t advertise well, but Amy swears by them. Loudly, and repeatedly. I could pay her babysitting fee in their hot chocolate. I _don’t._ But she insists that I could.”

“...She joined the welcome brigade, dragged us here that first week,” Parker answered, grinning when she caught the snort this time.

“I was wondering. There hasn’t been anyone new on the floor since long before Mr. Quint—the guy who had your apartment—moved out. Funny enough, it was Amy. She got the tour too.” So it wasn’t just them. Good to know.

Parker shrugged, “It was…a little weird. Nice weird. Where we were in Boston, we had a lot of regular faces around. It was kind of cool to get here and immediately get pulled into another group.” A little overwhelming in the moment, sure, but, in hindsight, nice. Parker, if she was being honest with herself, hadn’t really been looking forward to the move. It had taken her so long to get used to the pub and its crowds and its people, that the idea of leaving all that behind just as she was falling into a good rhythm was nothing short of terrifying.

And then they’d gotten here and been welcomed so easily. Sure, they didn’t get much of a chance to talk with most of them most days, but when they _did_ , no one balked at the little things—the little inconsistencies in their behavior. It was...nice. Unexpected.

All in all, Parker was pretty sure they’d made a good choice, despite it being rushed.

Eliot hummed, nodding slightly. “Most of the floor’s been around for a couple years now. And all of us are...well, we’re all pretty much shut-ins. Unspoken deal to make sure none of us become hermits I guess. The kids help a bit since they’ve basically claimed the entire floor as theirs. But, still…” He shrugged.

“Is that why there’s a herd of elephants tromping through the halls every other day?”

“They’re playing tag or some sh-thing. I don’t know. They give a different story every time someone asks. If they wake you guys up or something, or just get annoying, come grab one of us. They tend to scatter pretty quick.” He was trying for put-out muttering, Parker was pretty sure. All he really managed was sounding stupidly fond.

“Elli-Eliot, Eliot!” Molly’s yell split between them, causing both of them to startle slightly. Eliot recovered quicker, looking over.

“...get that loud enough munchkin?” he asked with a faint smile when it was clear the shriek had been for attention-getting purposes only. Molly didn’t directly answer, instead reaching out and...well, making grabby hands. Eliot raised an eyebrow at her, supremely unimpressed apparently—and wow. If what Hardison had said about Eliot not being her dad was true, she learned real quick, ‘cause Molly did a dead-on impression. Molly tried valiantly for another couple of seconds before groaning and dropping her hands.

“Can I _pleeeeeaaaaaaasssssseeeeee_ have it?” she asked, all put-out annoyance.

“I dunno. You wanna try again without the attitude?” Eliot asked, hiding a smile he couldn’t seem to actually stop by pretending to take a sip from her drink. Molly shrieked again and tripped to her feet to get to him.

“Please, please, please!”

Eliot laughed softly, handing it over easily. Molly glared for half a second before mumbling out a ‘thank you’ and dropping back down beside Hardison, going right back to their conversation about...elves. Apparently.

“...we’re working on it.” Eliot says, a couple moments later. Parker doesn’t quite get what he’s talking about immediately—only to realize she’d been watching them closely the entire time. “The ah...she knows better. Most days. It’s just-”

“She’s a kid and likes getting a rise out of you?” And apparently she was comfortable enough to do it in front of other people. Sure, it was just one interaction, but it could be pretty easy to tell when a kid was acting a pain because they were uncomfortable or scared or—...and when they were just being kids. Little things. Always the little things. Parker was liking the pair of them more and more.

“...something like that…” Eliot said, giving her an odd look she couldn’t quite parse. If pressed, she’d maybe guess confused and grateful? Maybe? It was gone too quick to tell. “...What made you two pick here anyway?” It was an abrupt topic change, and from his grimace, Parker knew he just wanted to get past it as quick as possible. Fair enough.

“I have some people up this way. Hardison’s...boss? Hey, are we still calling him your boss?” Parker shot over at Hardison, who waited until Molly hit a break in her story to glance back over.

“In polite company? Yeah,” Hardison grinned at her, all cheeky sunshine, before turning back to Molly.

“Right, so Hardison’s boss... ‘suggested’,” air quotes included, which got her a choked off laugh from Eliot and a high-five from Hardison, “we get a new view out our window, calm down a bit. But we didn’t want to just...pick up and leave everything. We’ve done it before, we could do it again but…” she shrugged, not uncomfortable per se, but definitely sketching around the feeling.

“I get it.” Eliot murmured, soft and easy enough that Parker was inclined to believe that he did. That he understood the push into freefall, the urge to vanish and move and start again just as much as he understood the sudden tethering that tipped the freefall from exhilarating to terrifying. She flashed him a quick, sharp smile.

“Yeah. So...so we picked somewhere where we knew people. People who’d show us around, help us fit in a bit...be a phone call away instead of a plane ticket. Guess we shouldn’t have worried huh?” Sure, Archie wasn’t much of the nurturing, super-helpful type in the day-to-day way. But Parker knew, if she asked him, he’d try. And that’s what mattered.

“You _did_ get adopted pretty quickly,” Eliot allowed, with a small quirk of a smile of his own. “Glad you had a plan though,” he added, an afterthought Parker’s pretty sure, since he’s turned his attention back to Hardison and Molly. Molly’s on the grass, stuck in the middle of a giggle-fit while Hardison finishes off a story about...nope, she can’t catch the particular plot of that one. Seems to be mostly funny noises and absolutely sincere faces. She’ll ask him to fill her in later.

“...also, I think she might have found her new favorite person. So, the kids should be more likely to leave off if you tell ‘em to.”

“She the ringleader or something?”

“Or something. Pretty sure it’s Trevor who comes up with the plans and Randy’s the best at figuring out how to do them, but they’re pretty good about listening when she decides what’s what. The floor’s never quieter than on the nights Amy’s studying for a test or something, and I’m pretty certain this little one’s got something to do with it.”

Parker grinned. Seemed like a close bunch, but, something still hit her as odd. At least from what she remembered from that age. “Seems a little odd—a six year old running around with-”

Eliot didn’t necessarily look uncomfortable, but he did shift slightly, a bit of a tense to his shoulders. Parker wondered if it was just a basic defense mechanism when talking about Molly, or if she’d struck a nerve. She didn’t get a chance to backtrack before he answered though. “A nine and an eight year old? Maybe. You should’ve seen them the first week she was here. They were terrified of her—wouldn’t talk to her, wouldn’t be in her general area, saying something about babies and girls and who knows what. I still don’t know what actually happened, but I was talking with Jenny—Randy’s mom—down the hall, and I just hear this crash coming from my apartment. Bolt over there, and there’s Molly, standing on the back of the couch, fielding both of them with a paper-towel roll sword. Best friends since. And they’ve basically adopted her as their little sister.”

Apparently asking anything about Molly was a pretty sure fire way to get Eliot talking. Good to know.

“...they’re also the only kids for two floors. And from what I hear, both Trevor and Randy don’t have a whole lotta friends outside of each other.” And there was that defensiveness again.

Parker frowned, trying to flick back through the conversation, figure out where it was coming from. It wasn’t...obvious, true. He wasn’t telling her, literally or figuratively, to back off. But something in the way he rounded back to explain, right after being open, just struck as off.

She’d keep an eye on it. First real conversation she’s had with him—making it weird when it really wasn’t wouldn’t do either of them any good.

“Ellie!”

Eliot winced slightly—or, it looked like he was trying to. Whether it was to hide the smile or the eye roll was up for debate. “Yeah, Molls? Also, stop yelling. I’m two feet away.”

Molly didn’t look put out in the least by the admonishment. Instead, she was clambering to her feet, Hardison helpfully holding her cup for her.

“You said we would get lunch!” She said, once she was balanced on her feet again. Eliot blinked at her, then pulled out his phone to check the time. The wince that time was real.

“...Right.” He shot an apologetic smile Parker’s way, then another towards Hardison, “Sorry, didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”

Hardison waved it away immediately, “It’s cool, man. Molly’s fun to talk to.” He shot a grin at a shyly smiling Molly. “And we haven’t seen much of you, you know? Doesn’t hurt to get to know our neighbor.” And there was that smile of his that Parker loved—really, she loved all his smiles, but not the point—big and bright, impossible to say no to and impossible not to smile back to.

Except Eliot seemed to be able to resist, but only just, if the way his shoulders relaxed back down was any sign.

Molly glanced between all of them, face scrunched up slightly.

“...You’re not coming?” she directed at Hardison, who blinked in surprise at her.

“Oh, uh…” He looked to Eliot for help, but Eliot looked just as surprised as Hardison did.

“...That’s up to Eliot.” Parker offered, when it was clear neither of the men were going to answer, too busy mentally flailing apparently. Molly immediately rounded on Eliot with some of the most pathetic doe eyes Parker had ever seen.

“We don’t want to intr-”

“Would you two like t-”

Both of them stopped, blinking at each other, before Hardison grinned and Eliot glanced away with a huff of a laugh. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and down his face before glancing back over.

“Right. Would you two like to join us for lunch then?” Eliot asked, easy, light. Not put out at all, which Parker supposed she should’ve been worried about.

Hardison looked to her, huffing when she just rolled her eyes and stood. “Sounds great.” She said.

Molly squealed and all but latched herself onto Hardison’s leg as he stood up as well. Eliot looked just this side of pained. “Molls, come on, you gotta ask before you do that...”

Molly huffed at him but let go of Hardison—who was holding in a laugh remarkably well—and took a step back. “Can I?”

“Might make it hard to walk.” Before her face could fall too far, Hardison added: “If it’s cool with you and Eliot, I could carry you instead?”

Eliot didn’t look…pleased with the offer. But he didn’t look completely put out about it either. Before he could make a decision, Hardison just smiled, easy as anything—and, Parker knew, so far from offended, he might as well be on a different planet—“You know, actually, I think sitting on the ground kinda messed up my back. Why don’t you sit next to me at lunch, and we’ll call it good?” Parker’s not even sure if Eliot knew he’d tensed up again. But the grateful smile he threw Hardison’s way said a lot.

Molly was less than pleased, but took the compromise with little grumbling at least. When Eliot took her little hand in his, she went without a problem, even when it became clear that she’d be doing her best to continue her conversation with Hardison on the way there.

“There’s a little cafe, just up the block. That work for you two?” Eliot asked, glancing between Parker and Hardison.

Hardison didn’t look up from where he was concentrating on Molly and her story, but he nodded in time with Parker’s “Sure.”

Eliot grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “before you hurt your neck…” and hefted Molly up onto his hip. It didn’t put Molly at Hardison’s height, but it definitely got her close enough that Hardison could both keep obviously listening to her and keep an eye on where he was going.

“...Ellie?” Parker asked, a smile she couldn’t really stop quirking up the corner of her mouth. It was cute and didn’t fit Eliot at all. Which kind of just made it cuter.

Eliot rolled his eyes but smiled back—flustered, but not embarrassed. “Uncle Eliot was too many syllables for her until just recently.”

Uncle. Well, that explained a couple things. Possibly anyway. Without directly _asking_ —which, even Parker knew that that was a bad idea—they probably wouldn’t know for sure anytime soon.

Lunch was...oddly normal. The cafe Eliot took them to was a little corner place—no more than a handful of tables inside, fewer booths. Standard menu, friendly waitress—who recognized Eliot and Molly apparently. They’d barely sat down before she’d swept over and asked if they’d have their usual. She didn’t seem too taken aback by Eliot saying yes for him, but no for Molly.

Which led to another one of those...defensive? Guarded? Weird little explanation. Apparently Molly was at war with any yellow food item. So, no mac and cheese. Which had actually sounded fantastic to Hardison.

So maybe lunch devolved into Molly being absolutely outraged at Hardison’s ‘betrayal’ and trying to get Parker on her side while Hardison enjoyed his mac and cheese as obnoxiously as he could.

Parker couldn’t tell if Eliot wanted to slam his head into the table or bust out laughing.

But he didn’t stop them either.

(She counted it as a win when, when she caught his eye over Molly’s head, he cracked a smile at her, looking just a touch less worn down than when he’d sat down next to her at the park.)


	3. Chapter 3

_Eliot_

 

He used to call them bad nights. Then again, he used to have them about as often as he had ‘good’ nights. So, fair enough—he’d needed a clear cut classification system. A way to explain to Toby why he wouldn’t be coming in, in as few words as possible. A way to explain to his therapist that, slowly, his good nights were outnumbering his bad ones. A way to explain to himself that they weren’t...permanent. They just. They were just bad for a bit. They’d level back out soon.

He doesn’t call them that anymore. Not because they’re magically _better_ or anything. They’re still not fun. Instead though, now they’re just something he occasionally deals with. They’re not good, or bad, they just are.

(Especially since he does still have nights he’d call bad—few and far between, thankfully.)

There’s nothing...It’s nothing _active_ keeping him awake. Not anymore, most nights. Nights like this, he just…

It used to be, he only slept as long as he needed to—kept a schedule he could stick to. Kept things in his head straight and clear, kept the rough edges and the nicks in his thoughts in line. Sometime between then and now, it became less about keeping to a schedule and more about just listening to his body. He slept when he felt like it. Didn’t fight it if his mind didn’t want to shut off.

Nights like this, his body just isn’t tired enough.

He’d laid in bed, shortly after getting Molly settled in for the night, staring at the ceiling. Managed that for two hours before calling it quits and relocating to the living room.

The tv is on to some movie—he hadn’t really been looking at the channels or titles when he’d picked it. Some sci-fi flick. All sweeping shots of space and stars and too bright, too sharp interiors. It’s on mute anyway, more to provide light and a bit of color, to keep catching the corner of his eye and give him a sense of time moving as scenes change.

He’s very aware that sitting in the dark, in the middle of the night, watching the window and just...waiting, is what Sophie would call ‘overdramatic, completely unnecessary, and excessively useless.’ But she’s in...fuck, where is she now. He knows she told him. Paris? No. France was last year. New York maybe? That sounded vaguely correct. He knows she’d been supremely proud of this year’s troupe. Feels kind of bad he hadn’t been paying more attention.

Whatever. Wherever she was, she didn’t get to have an opinion until she got back.

Besides. There’s not much else he can do. Running—like he used to on nights like this—is out of the question until Molly’s a little older. Maybe, if it wasn’t a school night, he could go beg Amy or Jenny to watch her while he went out. But Amy had a morning class Mondays and if his mornings were hectic, trying to get Molly ready for school, Jenny’s were a nightmare. Randy was not a morning child, by any stretch of the imagination.

Toby refused to give him any more paperwork to handle for the school. Something about not wanting to overwork him or something, even though they both knew that was a crock of shit.

He could _actually_ watch tv, but honestly, the idea just wasn’t...appealing right now.

Cooking dinners for the week would wake Molly up, no doubt.

So...sitting in the dark it was.

If he wasn’t so worried about what it said about him, he could maybe relax and just. Let it be.

The night beyond his window was quiet—quiet as it ever got in the middle of a decently sized city anyway. He could hear cars occasionally coming up the street, tires crunching at loose asphalt and potholes. Every once in awhile, lights streaked across the glass, blending with the glow of the streetlamps and fading just as quickly. From the angle the building was at, he could see the darker, flatter corner of the building across the street, an unnatural swath of dark cutting into the softer, star-specked sky.

He’s not entirely sure how much time’s passed when he hears it—the soft squeak of a door, down the hall. The movie on the tv has changed, but he couldn’t say when that happened.

He doesn’t move from his spot in the armchair. There’s half a chance she’s just getting up to go to the bathroom.

It’s not until he hears another door softly creak open—careful and slow, like she doesn’t want to wake someone up—that he sighs softly. “Molly?” he calls out, gently. Only just loud enough to be heard, yet still so, so loud in the quiet. There’s a pause, then the sound of small footsteps making their way over. A couple moments later, there’s a half asleep Molly at his side, rubbing at her eyes, hair all a mess, her Elsa nightgown rumpled and twisted.

“Hey Molls...nightmare?” he asks, when it’s clear Molly’s still just trying to wake up, definitely not thinking about how to form words.

She gives a short, sharp nod, barely waiting for him to hold out his arms before she’s climbing up onto the chair with him. She curls up against his chest, little hands tight in his shirt. He knows better than to ask her what it was about—she’ll either tell him or she won’t and he’ll be able to guess—so he just holds her close.

She’s not heavy, by any stretch of the imagination, and she feels so, so small in his arms. But she might as well be twice his own size, the way she knocks the breath out of him when he feels the damp spot on his shirt, hears the sniffle she tries to keep quiet.

He knows—experience is one hell of a teacher—that asking her about anything, the dream, the crying, _anything_ , will just have her crying harder, so he doesn’t. Instead, he talks. About everything. About absolutely nothing.

About how he’s pretty sure she made a new pair of friends with the neighbors. About how he’s so proud of her, talking to new people like that. About how Toby got him a section to teach, finally. About how yeah, yellow’s a weird color for a food, but it’s still _good_ . There’re a lot of weird colors for food. _Can we maybe try it again?_ Swear off purple colored foods instead.

That gets him a question—small, quiet, but _still_ —about what foods are colored purple. It’s when he starts listing them ( _eggplants, some potatoes, grapes, blackberries, blueberries, plums-_ ) that he realizes that, crisis aside, he really shouldn’t be telling her to avoid a group with so many fruits. So purple foods becomes... _actually, stick with yellow._ No cheese, some citrus and a couple peppers. He can still get the main food groups in there as long as bread doesn’t start counting.

There’s a sound that could be a laugh, if it wasn’t so stuttered and wet. But he’ll take it.

* * *

He calls her in sick the next morning. Makes a call to Toby when she’s getting dressed, tells him it had been a rough night. Just didn’t clarify for who.

They watch Frozen and Princess and the Frog before heading to the grocery store to shop for the week. Molly doesn’t let go of him the entire time they’re in the store, but she does drag him over to the produce section and somehow their cart ends up full of as many types of purple fruit as they can find.

* * *

He hopes the week will get better.

Two nights, then three, unable to sleep, _really_ sleep, aren’t unheard of for him. It’s when Molly gets up that second night, then the third, that he realizes two things.

One, he’s going to have to call both of them out for the week. Not much of a problem—Miss Josie understands even if the ladies in the office start making noises if he calls in too often, and Toby would smack him with a frying pan, again, if he tried to show up feeling less than a hundred percent.

And two, the week was shot to shit by Monday, and he’s only catching up by Wednesday.

* * *

  

_Hardison_

 

Parker doesn’t go in on Monday. Hardison tried to get her to—if you accept the fact that he set an alarm and actually hauled himself out of bed to see her off on her first day as “trying.” He likes to think it counted. When he’d rolled out of bed though—bright and early at the godawful time of seven a.m.—he’d found her at the kitchen table, in her pjs and nursing a cup of hot cocoa.

Two things wrong there.

One, she should be dressed and ready to go by now. Archie’s shop opened at eight, and from what Hardison understood, she was supposed to be there before the place opened.

And two, Parker never quite gets cocoa right. She tries. Hardison and Nana have both shown her a couple times. And while he’s sure she could do it, he’s also pretty sure she’s too impatient. It’s chocolate, and, when made right, heaven in a cup, so he can’t really blame her. Point is, she normally burns it—he does too every third try; they’re both impatient little shits sometimes. The fact that she’s drinking it anyway, despite the tell-tale grimace as she does, tells him all he needs to know about her mood this morning.

He raps his knuckles against the table gently, wincing slightly when her hands tighten on her mug before she glances up. Parker doesn’t startle. It’s just not in her to. But that’s as close as she ever gets.

“Hey mama...wanna come back to bed?”

He should be asking about Archie’s. About why she’s not going in. What changed between last night, when it was all she could talk about, and this morning. But, while she’ll answer—new promise between them and all, talking when they’re upset, no matter what—she won’t like it. It’s not an emergency, so best just to let her talk if she wants to. Later. “You already call Archie?”

She’d nodded in answer to his first question, scrunched up her face at the second.

“Alright. I’ll text him, yeah? He’ll get it.”

“What’s there to get? I’m just-I’m just freaking out over nothing!” It’s not a yell, but it’s definitely loud—louder than she’d intended if the way she immediately hunches in on herself is anything to go by.

“...Parker, it’s something. I don’t know _what_ it is yet...” She shoots him an unimpressed look, and he just smiles. He’d had to try. “But if you’re reacting like this, then it’s important. And it’s okay. We’ll figure it out, yeah? But right now—it’s ass o’clock in the morning. Can we please go back to bed? This sounds like an afternoon-problem. Maybe even an evening-problem. A not-right-now-problem, if you will.”

She snorts at him—not quite a laugh, but the smile is there, so he’ll take it. She dumps her mug into the sink and heads back to their room without complaint, gently checking his shoulder on her way past. He half-heartedly grabs at her shirt—wait, is that his?—just to hear her laugh as she spins out of reach.

A quick check of the kitchen to make sure nothing is still burning or liable to burn them down while they sleep, a text to Archie—a simple _Parker’s not coming in. She’ll talk to you later_ —and he’s joining her.

By the time he gets back to their room, she’s already burrowed back under the blankets. It’s not too hard to slip in next to her, waiting until she moves into his space on her own before wrapping an arm loosely around her waist. It’s a little too stuffy to be tucked up under their comforter like this but, hey, he’ll live.

“...so, do we need to talk about i-mmph!” The hand in the face—a blind grope to put a hand over his mouth he’s sure—was not needed. Really.

“Afternoon-problem. Maybe an evening-problem.” Parker mutters before burrowing in, smushing her face against his chest.

He can live with that.

* * *

It’s not an afternoon-problem. It’s not even an evening-problem. Nope, turns out it’s an “ask me in two days” problem. Which, cool. They can work with that.

They don’t get out much, before Wednesday. Monday night is spent on their obscenely huge couch—the one that could probably double as a queen size mattress. They’d both seen it in the store and there hadn’t even been a question—wrapped up in their comforter while they catch Parker up on Doctor Who.

They barely manage to avoid spilling phad thai all over the damn thing.

Tuesday is basically the same—only, the comforter has been banished back to their bed to avoid any near-catastrophic spills again.

This ends up being for the best when Parker gets a little too excited about the heist breakdown in Ocean’s Eleven, sending their green chili curry flying. Whatever—that’s why couch cushions have two sides, right?

Wednesday night...that’s when things start getting weird. (Not that Hardison notices at the time of course—purely a “hindsight is twenty-twenty” moment, right there.)

Him and Parker are still Not Talking about the whole Archie thing, and while plans are made for the day, without fail, they always end up back on the couch, new things of take out in hand and a new marathon to watch.

The whole thing is scratching at the back of Hardison’s brain, like an itch between his shoulder blades he just can’t reach. He knows they need to talk, but it’s not an _emergency_ . They’re both still talking normally. Still unpacking. There haven’t been any fights beyond what to order for dinner that night (and calling _those_ fights is just ridiculous, honestly). Parker’s not avoiding him, he’s not avoiding her. So, it’s not an emergency. Therefore, no pushing.

But something is still clearly _wrong_ , and he can’t _fix it_. Unless they talk.

He doesn’t know if its how badly he’s broadcasting, or if Parker finally just worked through whatever it is she needed to, but Wednesday night, she snags the remote from him before he can press play. Tosses it somewhere behind her. There’s no crash of plastic on hardwood, so he’s going to assume it landed somewhere on the couch. Whether or not they’ll be able to find it again is a completely different question.

But that’s not important, because Parker is looking at him with a determined set to her shoulders and a stubborn glint to her eyes.

“...So, evening-problem?” he asks, after a long moment of quiet.

She gently shoves at his shoulder, even as her own relax. And maybe his grin is a little smug—tension’s the wrong way to go about this anyway.

“I think Archie’s doing this for me,” she says. And Hardison has to pause. Pick that over for a second.

“Well...yeah?” he tries, frowning. Of course Archie’s doing this for her.

“No, no...Not. Not like he’s-Not like you’d expect? More like. He’s doing this _just_ for me. He’s never been interested in the shop before. It’s one of several he owns, you know? Places he picked up because...because it’s Archie. Maybe _this_ will be what he settles into. Except he never does, picks something else the next year. But he stuck with this one. And it’s because of me. And that feels _weird_. And if I go in and-and it’s good, or it’s right, he’s gonna stick around even though that’s-” She cuts off, nose scrunching up slightly as the right words escape.

“Not him.” Hardison finishes for her. “You’re worried about him focusing too much on you, getting stuck on making it perfect even if it’s not what he wants?”

She nods, shoulders slumping, looking miserable. “...You know.” Hardison starts, slowly, “They—him and Nate?—staged an intervention for us. We could do the same thing for him. If it comes to that.”

It’s simple—too simple, really—but exactly what she needed to hear apparently. That they’d handle whatever happened. And they’d handle it together.

He knows everything’s still picking at her, still needs to be worked over to her satisfaction. He can see the wheels in her brain turning—but he can also see the relaxed slope to her shoulders, hear the relieved sigh she lets out as she sinks into the back of the couch. If there’s anything else she needs from him, she’ll let him know. Until then…

He’s just about to settle in next to her—Disney marathon all queued up on the tv, just waiting for the remote, which...oh right, they need to find that—when there’s a knock at the door. And that’d be their pizza.

Parker calls dibs on finding the remote, which leaves him with the door. He grumbles and gripes as he awkwardly flails off their couch, only barely missing tripping onto his feet, but he gets a throw pillow to the back of the head that lets him know just how convincing that all is.

“Michael! Mike, Mikey, hey man.” He didn’t want to think too hard about the fact that he already knew the late night delivery drivers around here. “How’re you doing this fine, fine nigh-”

“It’s three a.m. dude. Its morning.”

“It’s still dark, therefore, still night.”

“Not how that works.”

“Definitely how that wor-Hey Elio-” Hardison squeaks, mouth snapping closed when Eliot rounds from where he’s locking his door to look at him. Molly’s conked out in his arms, head resting on his shoulder, looking for all the world like she could sleep through an earthquake. But Hardison’s had enough experience babysitting to know that faces like that _lie_ . For all he knows, she’s the lightest sleeper on God’s green earth and he is _not_ going to be responsible for waking her up.

And if _that_ wasn’t enough to get Hardison to keep quiet for a moment, his second glance at Eliot would do it. When they’d seen the guy on Sunday, sure, he’d looked a little worse for wear—shirt creased and wrinkled, bags under his eyes—but nothing that couldn’t be passed off as the end of a rough week.

This was not that. The man looked _beat_ . Hair barely scraped back into a tail, the bags under his eyes had been upgraded to checked baggage weights, and even though the gym-shorts and tank top was the least amount of clothing Hardison had seen him in yet, that couldn’t explain just how _small_ the man looked. That was all in how he was carrying himself. Hunched in, curled tight around Molly. The smile he aimed Hardison’s way didn’t do much to help, if Hardison was being honest.

“Little early for pizza isn’t it?”

Okay, so, ignoring the mess. Hardison could do that. He huffed in false indignation. “Three a.m. is the perfect time for pizza, I’ll have you know.”

Eliot just raised an eyebrow at him, “...And Thai and Indian apparently.”

...In Hardison’s defense, those had been closer to midnight. And he hadn’t known Eliot had heard them. Or that he could identify—wait. “...How in the hel-heck do you know that?”

Eliot snorted, gently shifting Molly’s dead weight. “The Thai place knocked on my door first.” Whoops. “And I saw the other car last night.”

“...Could’ve been for anyone.”

“Yeah, but you just admitted it.” At least the shit-eating smirk was honest.

“...So, do you want your pizza?” Michael piped up, shifting on his feet. Oh, right. Kid was still standing there.

Hardison startled slightly, blinking. Then he snorted and handed over more than enough to cover the order and a tip.

“Right, sorry. Thanks.”

Michael saluted and headed out. He was pretty sure Eliot was silently laughing at him. “...So, what’s up? I know why we’re up but uh...everything okay with you…?” Hardison asked, suddenly realizing that his neighbor leaving the apartment at three a.m. with a sleeping child was a little odd.

Eliot grimaced, rolling his free shoulder in what Hardison was pretty sure was supposed to be a shrug, “Heading out for a bit. Dropping Molly off at Amy’s.” And that didn’t really answer his question. Pretty much expertly side-stepped it actually.

Before Hardison could actually draw attention to that however, Eliot was saying “Have a good night,” and heading down the hall. He knocked gently on Amy’s door, which swung open barely a moment later.

Amy took Molly, who didn’t seem to like the new arrangement much, if the way she was grumbling was anything to go by. Hardison’s not sure if it was the movement that woke her, or some innate little kid sense that told her her bed wasn’t the one she wanted. Before she could kick up a fuss though—and it would’ve been quite a big one, if Hardison was reading her right—Eliot ducked in, muttering something too low for Hardison to hear.

Molly didn’t really settle though until Eliot hooked their pinkies together, pressing a kiss to his closed fist, while a clearly still half-asleep Molly did the same. After that, she seemed perfectly content to conk back out on Amy’s shoulder.

“Shoo, I’ve got her. No class tomorrow, pick her up whenever.”

“You’re a life-saver Amy.”

“Remember that next time you go by the coffee shop.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Waving her away, Eliot heads for the stairs, disappearing between one moment and the next.

Hardison’s still just trying to figure out what the heck just happened. When he meets Amy’s eyes, she just shrugs at him, a _what can you do?_ clear as day on her face, before she disappears into her apartment with Molly.

...Okay. Enough odd for one night. Hardison follows Amy’s example and heads back inside, gently kicking the door closed behind him. “How much of that did you catch?” he asks Parker, who has apparently not only found the remote, but at some point got up to get them plates.

“Eliot wandering out into the middle of the night after dropping Molly off at Amy’s? Or you arguing with the pizza guy about what qualifies as morning?”

“So, all of it. Cool. Well, besides the visual part I guess. Eliot didn’t look _great_ Sunday, I wasn’t imagining that, right?”

Parker shook her head.

“Right. Well, ah, he looked significantly worse just now. And as cool as we were on Sunday, I don’t think we’re at the right place to straight up ask why the guy looks like shit. ...Right?”

Parker raised an eyebrow at him.

“Right, right. Definitely not.”

“...Next time we see him, we could at least ask if he’s alright? Maybe ask the neighbors. They all seem like a close bunch. If nothing else, they’ll keep an eye on him.”

“I like the way you think, mama.”

* * *

They don’t see Eliot the next day. Or Friday.

Parker makes it into work on Friday though. Comes back that night and tells Hardison all about it. They both know he doesn’t have a clue what she’s talking about—he’s so much better when he can see things at least once, and he hasn’t had a need to take a real good look under the hood of any cars—but it doesn’t matter, because she’s excited and all he wants to do is watch her. Her hands are going every which way, and she can’t sit still, has to climb up onto the back of the couch, just so she can re-adjust back to sitting next to him a couple moments later.

She’s a live wire, and all it does is remind Hardison how still she’s been these last couple of days—ready to stay put on the couch, or curl up in bed. It’s not that it wasn’t _right_ —far from it really. She thinks best when she’s still, when she’s focused. But seeing her moving again, distracted, happy, is a relief.

He probably has some kind of dopey look on his face if the look she shoots him is anything to go by. But she just grins, big and bright, lightly smacks him with a throw pillow, and goes back to talking about the set up they have down at the shop.


	4. Chapter 4

_ Hardison _

 

He sees Eliot on Tuesday.

The weekend had passed in a blur of final unpacking, figuring out what they still needed for the apartment—little touches, nothing big, thankfully—and figuring out a basic schedule they could both stick to. Parker was going to be working a pretty regular eight to three at the shop. And while they both knew that'd only last so long, it was still easier to plan around that than the mess her schedule would likely later become.

Hardison was still technically under what he only half-jokingly called 'enforced vacation'. Nate only took one of his three calls, and that whole conversation boiled down to  _ relax, Hardison. Enjoy the new place. Get out, explore. And stay away from the computer _ .

That last part was wishful thinking, and they both knew it. Just like they both knew that Hardison needed to hear it, even if he didn't like it.

The whole point of moving out here  _ was _ to relax. Settle down. Get back on a semi-regular schedule. 

Nate would keep him updated. But until then, he was more or less on his own.

It wasn't  _ quite _ driving him nuts yet, not like he thought it would. But damn it was getting close.

Regardless, he'd decided to actually take some of Nate's advice and actually...get out of the apartment. Explore a bit. He had most of the area memorized, and he could most likely reliably navigate to most of the take out places in the surrounding two miles, but that didn't really replace actually  _ seeing _ the area.

And maybe he'd been a little reluctant. He could own up to that. Actually familiarizing himself with this new place would make it...well, real. And without Parker around to talk to, it would just make it all that harder to miss.

It wasn't that Boston was...well, no. Boston had been his home. Almost as much as Chicago had been. No matter how much he'd jumped around before or between the two, those were the places he'd stopped for a bit. Built something up around himself. Settled into routines and took the time to get to know the faces around him.

And now here he was. In Portland. Across the country.

It was  _ weird _ .

Regardless though, he makes himself go out. Grabs a coffee at the corner shop—it’s not too cold out, thankfully, but it is grey, with the sun hiding behind shapeless piles of clouds, a cool wind blowing idly up the street. The coffee in his hands keeps the thin chill at bay, helps make it comfortable. He makes himself take notice of the little shops lining the street leading away from their apartment. Where the roads turn, curving around parks and cement. Where the shops turn into offices, then back to shops. Somehow manages to find his way back to that little cafe Eliot and Molly had shown them.

It doesn't solidify the place as  _ real _ . Not yet. But it’s close. And it's  _ nice _ .

A knot in his spine he hadn't even been aware of has worked itself out by the time he turns back onto their street, coffee long gone, hands shoved in his pockets.

Which is about when the sky breaks, heavy and full and sudden, the rain coming down in sheets. He's soaked in seconds. And there's nothing to really do but laugh.

Before the rain can turn cutting—the thin bite of cold across his face tells him that that’d take about .2 more seconds—he makes it inside, stumbling through the door with perhaps a little more drama than necessary. But no one’s there to see, so whatever.

Wait, scratch that.

Well, Eliot doesn’t seem to be looking his way anyway, instead eyeing the elevator doors. 

There’s about two seconds in there where Hardison’s able to convince himself Eliot didn’t see him basically swan dive through the door, before Eliot glances back, smirk firmly in place.

“Get caught in the rain there?” he asks, sounding way too amused to have missed  _ anything _ .

But Hardison is nothing if not the king of recovery, so he just sniffs, straightens out his jacket (as much as he can anyway, given that it’s currently determined to stick to him  _ everywhere _ ), and slips up beside the man to wait for the elevator as well. “Could ask you the same thing,” is what comes out of his mouth, even as he feels his attempt at cool nonchalance fail.

He has to smile. If he  _ feels  _ like a drowned rat, Eliot  _ looks _ like one. His hair is slicked back, still dripping onto his shoulders, while his shirt looks about three shades too dark and is bunched up in weird places, just like Hardison’s jacket.

Eliot snorts at him, shaking his head and sending water flying. Hardison squawks, hands coming up to shield his face. Not that it  _ does  _ much, but it’s the principle of the thing. And from the look on Eliot’s face—smug, self-satisfied grin—he’s well aware.

Hardison’s about two seconds from making a dog joke, when the elevator doors finally open with a sharp rattle. (He’d asked about that, the first day they moved in. So far, all he’s heard from anyone is  _ don’t worry about it, it’s perfectly safe _ . Which doesn’t help. At all.)

Eliot steps in, Hardison following, and the moment for grumbling or griping about the extra water to the face has passed. (Or, at least, Hardison assumes it has. If it was one of his friends from Boston, they’d be hearing about it for  _ days _ . But this is new, a friendly neighbor, and where the overdramatics can come into play is still unsure and wow Hardison is overthinking this.)

But, maybe there’s something else he can comment on. He’s not exactly subtle about the once over he gives the man, but, hey, Eliot doesn’t seem to care so whatever.

While he doesn’t look  _ well  _ rested, he does look like he’s gotten some sleep in the past couple of days. And he’s back to carrying himself like he’d been when they’d first met him at least.

“...You gonna ask or just stare at me?” Eliot’s question has Hardison starting slightly, blinking as Eliot rolls his eyes.

“...How long’s this elevator ride anyway?” Hardison replies. The look Eliot shoots him is about as unimpressed as it gets, and all Hardison can do about it is smile, it’s already such a familiar look. “I’m not gonna ask, ‘cause it’s not my business. But I’m glad to see you doing better, man. Didn’t...really know how to bring it up. Is all. What with uh...well…”

“Us having met a couple weeks ago and only seeing each other sporadically since then?”

“Yep, that.” The finger gun was totally necessary there.

Eliot shrugs, hands going into his pockets, only for him to grimace and drop his arms to his sides instead. “Don’t worry about it. Molly likes you. Far as I’m concerned, and most of the others by the way, you two’re part of the family up here. You ain’t gonna offend me, or anyone else, by just being you.”

Hardison kind of has to blink again. He knew they’d been getting along with most of the other’s on the floor, but to have it put plainly that they were already part of the little community they had going on up there was...well, surprising. 

But, awesome too.

Before he could actually respond, the doors were opening (and that timing had to be on purpose. Someone, somewhere, had to be controlling the damn thing) and Eliot was stepping out, waving over his shoulder. “You two need anything, just let me know, yeah?”

Hardison manages a rushed “Oh, thanks, you too!” before Eliot’s disappearing into his apartment, leaving Hardison still standing in the damn elevator.

The same elevator that creaks and rattles and has Hardison flying out of it just before the doors close again.

* * *

The rain doesn’t let up.

And for those first couple of days, neither of them much mind.

Hardison can’t help but enjoy those first two mornings, waking up to the sound of rain hitting the window, thunder rumbling low in the distance. Parker curled up, warm and heavy against him under the covers. Thin grey light stretching through their window, casting an unreal edge to everything, making it all that much easier to just lie there and enjoy the quiet that slips between the beats of rain on the glass.

Parker’s less thrilled than he is, given that she actually has to go out in it to get to work. But Hardison knows she enjoys watching the rain through the garage doors at work— _ makes the world disappear, you know? Nothing around but us in the shop, and what we’re working on _ —so he doesn’t take her grumbling too seriously.

By Friday though, it’s getting...not grating, but definitely annoying.

By Saturday, he’s about ready to start climbing the walls. And Parker, without the distraction of work, is right there with him.

He can’t really go out—he’s still not familiar enough with the area to have an appealing destination in mind for days like this—and Parker’s been out and about all week, and really just wants to be at home, but the fact that she can’t really leave either without the whole drying off process that is coming back inside...All of it’s enough to drive them nuts.

Hardison’s been trying to catch up on some files Nate sent his way—with the understanding that he’d take his time, sift through them slowly, yadda yadda, he’s been nominally done with them since about two days after Nate sent them to him. But it doesn’t hurt to go back through, see what he’s missed. Give Nate the impression that he really is taking longer.

The quiet clacking of his keyboard is really the only sound in the apartment besides the muffled tapping of the rain. Parker had started wandering around the apartment about half an hour ago. Sitting at the table. Then the couch. Disappearing down the hall. Back to the kitchen. Back down the hall. Then back to the couch.

She lasts longer than Hardison thought she would, honestly.

“I’m going for a run,” she announces, after another trip down the hall. When Hardison looks up, she’s decked out in her thermals, running shoes already in place, one of his old hoodies swamping her.

“...Don’t stay out too long? Calling in sick so soon wouldn’t look good to the new boss,” is what he offers in return, soft smile in place. He knows she can more than take care of herself. But, just like he wanted, the ramrod sharpness to her shoulders settles as she rolls her eyes and leans in for a quick goodbye kiss.

When the door closes behind her, the apartment is back to that same heavy quiet it’s been the past couple days. What had been unreal, calming, the first two days, was now oppressive. Thick. Waiting to shatter, but held too long to break now.

He could turn on the tv, he supposed. Drown on the quiet. Have a quiet night in, waiting for Parker to get back.

He’s packed up his laptop and is heading out of the apartment before he’s fully thought through where he’s actually going.

He needs company. Some change of scenery.  _ Something _ .

And Eliot did say ‘anything’.

But this is weird, right? Coming over to a neighbor’s place, one he barely knows, just because he’s bored essentially?

But he said anything. Hardison takes a deep breath, hand coming up to knock on the door.

It swings open just before his knuckles can actually make contact, Eliot leaning against the edge, eyebrow raised at him.

“You gonna ask or just stare at me?” he asks after a beat. His face is completely neutral.

Hardison doesn’t buy that for a damn second. “... _ How? _ ” He manages after a second.

“I said anything. And it’s not that much of a jump.” His face cracks, a small smile slipping through. “Come on. Game’s about to start.” And with that, he turns away, disappearing into the apartment, leaving the door wide open.

Well. That answers that then.

Hardison sighs softly, a quick exhale of relief, before stepping inside, gently shutting the door behind him.

“You want anything to drink? We’ve got...beer, water, or lemona-”

“That’s mine!” is the shrill call from the direction of the couch. Hardison barely hides a laugh behind a cough.

“...Beer, water, or lemonade. Because, whatever certain little kids seem to think, it’s polite to offer what we have.” There’s dejected mumbling from the couch again, but no outright protests.

“Water’s fine, man. You sure you don’t mind?”

“Mind what?”

“...Me basically crashing in?”

“You and Parker get in a fight?”

“What? No!”

“You plan on being a pain in the ass while you’re here?” Eliot winces slightly there, but doesn’t correct the cursing.

“What the- of course not!”

“You here ‘cause you’re bored out of your mind and needed some different four walls to stare at for a bit?”

“No-Wait. ...That one’s right.”

Eliot peeks around the corner of the kitchen, just to let Hardison see him roll his eyes. “Of course I don’t mind. Told you, anything. Of all the things you could ask for, this barely registers.” He waves a hand towards the couch, “Make yourself comfortable. Careful of the crayons,” and disappears back into the kitchen.

Hardison blinks after him for a moment, then shrugs, accepts that this is indeed happening, and makes his way to the couch, taking his first actual look at the apartment around him on the way.

The layout’s basically the same as his and Parker’s—open living room, kitchen blocked off by an island, hall off to the right. A beat up couch takes center stage in the living room, with a low-lying and equally as beat up coffee table in front of it, the tv a couple feet out perched on an older cabinet. Two sidetables next to the couch, and a recliner closer to the windows, and that about rounds out the furniture. It’s...basic. Not bad, but besides a few pictures hanging on the wall—Hardison can make out two that’re Eliot and Molly, the others group shots of people he can’t immediately identify—there’s not a whole lot of personality to it.

Before he can wonder after that, he catches sight of Molly. She’s sat between the couch and the coffee table, which has been overtaken by a truly impressive stack of colored paper. There’s a pack of markers half open beside her, a huge thing of crayons spilling out over the couch behind her, and a handful of bright glitter pens currently being wielded to draw...something. Hardison can’t quite make it out, and she seems to lose interest in whatever it is pretty quickly, tossing aside that sheet for a new one and starting again.

“...Hey Molly.” He offers, when it’s clear the little girl’s too wrapped up in her drawing to pay much attention to him. She blinks and glances up, hands pausing for a moment, then grins brightly at him.

“Hardison!” She squeals, jumping up, and before Hardison can actually react, he’s got about 50 pounds of child jumping and tackling him. He manages to catch her, barely, and just has to laugh when she latches on like a koala.

“Well hi to you too.” He says, when it’s clear she’s not planning on letting go.

“I think that officially makes you her favorite person.” Hardison startles, spinning around—Molly just laughs as his grip tightens around her to avoid dropping her in the swing—to find Eliot watching them, not quite hiding a crooked smile.

There’s no hesitation like Hardison remembered seeing at the park, and Hardison lets himself relax and shift Molly into a more comfortable hold, ending up with her on his hip in a mirror of what how he’d seen Eliot hold her who knows how many times. Molly seemed completely comfortable with the idea at least.

“And now you’re never gonna be able to get rid of her, you realize.” Eliot offers, holding out a glass of water on his way past to drop down on the couch.

“Now why would I ever want to be rid of a cute monkey like her?” He asks, if only to hear her laugh and then loudly proclaim that she’s ‘not a monkey!’ “Really? Fooled me. What about a koala? You one of those?” And that just has her laughing again.

Soon as she’s calmed down again (it takes a minute, after Eliot offers up maybe a sloth instead), she seems to remember that she was in the middle of doing something Really Important (her words, not his) and asks to be put down, which Hardison obliges easily enough. She settles back on the floor in front of the couch while Hardison gently moves her pack of crayons from the couch cushion so he can sit down as well.

“...So what’re we watching?” Hardison asks, after realizing all he’d heard Eliot say was ‘game’.

“Uh...Longhorns and Tigers I think.” At Hardison’s blank look, Eliot just grins. “College ball. Don’t follow it as closely as I used to, but it’s something to watch Saturday nights.”

Hardison nods slightly, even if he can’t exactly relate. Football had never been his thing—his Nana, she was a die hard Bears fan, no doubt, and she’d managed to drag a couple of the other kids into it as well, and he definitely enjoyed hanging out with the family when whatever latest game was on. But, he could see the appeal, and honestly, why not. He wanted something to do, and this was something to do.

“Second thought. Football means beer. Mind if I grab one?” Eliot waves him off easily enough and Hardison pushes himself to his feet, shuffling to the kitchen. It’s just as plain as the living room, except the fridge, which as far as he can tell is a timeline of Molly’s drawing skills, told in glitter, stick figures, and...what looks like a rainbow dog. There’s a couple pictures with magnets, a little bit higher up, all looking like bad phone camera shots, red-eye and too-bright flash included, of Eliot and Molly in various places. What those places actually  _ are  _ Hardison can’t tell, since Molly seems intent on getting her face in as much of the picture as possible while Eliot just laughs in the background or pushed off to the side.

They’re adorable.

He’s grinning hard by the time he makes it back to the couch, and when Eliot shoots him a look, all he can do is shrug, “Cute pictures.” 

Eliot looks like he wants to be embarrassed, dragging a hand down his face and everything, but he can’t hide the smile and he gives up pretty quick. “Thanks. She’s a menace with a camera.” He tacks on at the end, laughing when Molly turns around to glare at him for a moment, “Yes, you. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Noted then.” Hardison says, laughing when Molly completely ignores the agreement and Eliot just looks offended. “What was that you said about ‘favorite person’?” His grin may be just a touch cheeky.

Eliot rolls his eyes and gently shoves at his shoulder, “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

They’re all quiet for a little while after that, Molly coloring away, and Eliot and Hardison paying enough attention to the game to comment here and there. It’s nice, relaxed (and so completely different from Nana’s tailgating parties that Hardison has to laugh, even if it is just to himself).

“So, you ever play or anything?” Hardison asks after a little while—the game’s going strong, but he’s a talkative person by nature. Quiet chit-chat was never really going to last. Eliot, at least, seems willing to play along.

“High school, yeah.”

“Lemme guess...quarterback?” 

“I’m gonna take that as a compliment instead of whatever that was supposed to be, and yeah. Second-string until junior year, made the jump to first senior year.” Eliot shrugs, a fond smile playing about the corner of his mouth.

Hardison tilts his head, “Were you gonna try and take it pro?”

Eliot pauses, eyeing the screen for a moment. He’s still smiling though, if a touch smaller, so Hardison doesn’t think too much on it. “Nah. I mean, maybe for a week after I moved up, you know? But it wasn’t ever...wasn’t ever a real idea. Never liked the idea of college, and I busted my shoulder, halfway through the season. Couldn’t make it in front of the scouts, and my grades weren’t gonna get me anywhere, anyway.” He shrugs, “Fun thought while it lasted though.” Hardison can get that. 

“What about you? Any sports in high school you wanted to go with?”

“Ah. Chess count?” Eliot blinks, then snorts out a laugh—it’s not mean-spirited though, which Hardison’s more used to, so he just grins. “C’mon man, I had braces until I was nineteen, pretty sure that like. Automatically makes me too nerdy for sports. And I had like...a rabid pack of older siblings who sidelined me from anything deemed ‘dangerous’ or ‘unhealthy’ or ‘likely to end with me in the hospital fifteen IQ points dumber’ and that was Jamie saying that not me.”

And Eliot’s just watching him at this point and Hardison gets the distinct feeling he’s being laughed at, even if Eliot’s hiding it with the beer bottle.

“...’rabid pack of older siblings’ huh?”

“That’s what you got out of that?”

“It seemed the kindest option.”

“Oh,  _ thanks _ . And yeah, rabid pack. It’s kinda...a  _ thing  _ at my Nana’s house, you know? You get there first, you look after who got there next. I just happened to come in right after a handful of older kids.” And Eliot’s face is scrunching up slightly, trying to follow, “Nana was my foster mom, keep up.” Hardison says, maybe a touch too quick, and he knows a shade too defensive. It’s nothing Eliot’s done—and of all the people Hardison’s had this conversation with, Eliot’s probably the last one that’d get on his case, given whatever’s going on with him and Molly—but it’s habit. Too many well-meaning people with patronizing voices, too many ignorant brats with too-big mouths, too many awkward pauses and loud silences. But Eliot just hums and nods, like that was all he needed to figure out the rest of the conversation and he was good with that, “They took one look at the teams at our school, and signed me up for chess. I think Jamie did it half as a joke, but joke’s on him, I  _ own  _ at chess. Don’t look at me like that, yes I said it and I’m sticking with it.”

Now Eliot’s definitely laughing at him, eyes bright and shoulders shaking silently.

“No chess games then, got it.”

“Damn straight.” And he definitely deserved the kick to the shin that got him, even if Eliot’s eyes are still too bright for the glare to hold much weight. Still,  _ ow _ . “Sorry Molly…”

“Ellie cusses all the time. He says I’m not supposed to copy him.” Is what she shoots back without looking up from what she’s drawing.

“That’s right-”

“Even if Trevor’s being an ass.” She follows up, not even acknowledging Eliot had been talking. It’s all Hardison can do not to choke on the drink he’d taken.

Eliot groans, slouching down further on the couch, a hand clapped over his eyes. “And that one in particular?”

“I’m not supposed to copy in front of his mom.”

“Correct. Good job.”

Hardison’s trying, honestly, he is, not to let the laugh in his chest bubble out. But Eliot’s absolutely defeated relief and Molly just blithely continuing drawing after that is too much. Not even Eliot hitting him with the damn throw pillow with his free hand stops him, though it does make him try to move out of the way.

“Take it the switch’s been hard man?” Which, wait, he has no idea how long Eliot’s had Molly. Ah shit, shit-

Eliot peeks at him from between his fingers, grunting, “What gave it away?” And Hardison relaxes again, offering what he hopes is a commiserating smile. “The kids at the school are better about it. They hear Molly and the entire kitchen could be a PBS set piece, and they don’t live with her.”

“...School? Kitchen?” Hardison asks. Eliot blinks, glancing over, then snorts.

“Oh, sorry. I work at the culinary institute a little ways up the road.”

“Ellie’s a chef!” Molly adds helpfully, even while Eliot just rolls his eyes—carefully where she can’t see.

“Not quite, munchkin. Remember? Chefs run the kitchens.”

“And classes. You said classes too.”

“...That’s right, baby. But I’m not teaching any classes right now.” And that seems to get Molly’s attention, as she just about swings around hard enough to almost topple over.

“But Toby said-”

“I know what Toby said. And it hasn’t happened yet. The teacher I was going to cover came back sooner than we thought. He’s working on it though, promise. So you can’t be mad next time you see him, alright? ...C’mon Molly, promise me you won’t be mad at him.”

Molly glares at him for a long moment, before grumbling and huffing but nodding. She grumbles some more when Eliot gently pulls her over to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Thanks Molls. Go back to drawing, yeah?” She’s not entirely pleased with the idea, clearly, but she does as she’s asked, and seems to quickly get wrapped back up in it.

Which is about the time Eliot seems to remember Hardison’s there.

“...Everything good?” Hardison asks, when it becomes clear that Eliot’s trying to figure out how to explain all of  _ that _ , and not managing to come up with much if his blank face is anything to go by.

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. Toby’s my boss, and my friend,” he directs that last part at Molly, who just huffs and doesn’t look up from her drawing, “and I kind of...got the job based on that, rather than much practical experience.” He shrugs, too direct to be anything but sincere, “I help out with the administration side, and in the kitchen the school runs for the show restaurant. Occasionally I’ll step in for one of the teachers as a substitute, but we haven’t been able to get me my own section, partially because of that lack of experience, and partially ‘cause there just hasn’t been an open class. It’s an ongoing thing is all.” And Hardison nods, because that seems to be all the input he needs to give on the matter.

“No practical experience, but he clearly thinks you’re good enough to teach, even if you haven’t yet. What got you into cooking then? Kind of a jump from quarterback to the kitchen.” Hardison asks before the silence that crops up can get too long. It’s an out and they both know it, but Eliot just looks grateful for it.

“I didn’t...it’s not like I went directly into the kitchen after high school. It was something I picked up a couple of years ago, after I met Toby. Needed something new, you know? It was challenging enough to keep my attention, but had quick enough results that I wasn’t zoning out or getting antsy in between. And it’s just...nice to have something you can just give to people and they don’t question it too much.” The last part is said in a mumble, and it takes Hardison a moment to recognize the faint flush creeping over the bridge of Eliot’s nose. He bites back a smile.

“I get it, man. Nana was the same way about food.” He shrugs when Eliot looks over at him, one eyebrow raised. “Okay, hers was a little more on the ‘I spent three hours in the kitchen, you’re da- very well gonna eat it’ but still. Came from the same place.” He grins when Eliot snorts and shakes his head.

“Uh-huh. What do you do anyway, if we’re sharing?”

“Law firm consultant.” It rolls off his tongue easily, and he’s kind of glad him and Parker spent those handful of hours a couple years ago hammering out exactly what his title should be. The surprised look from Eliot is one he’s expecting, the slightly nod and shrug a moment later he’s not. “...what, you actually bought that?”

“Is it true?”

“Well, yeah but-”

“So what’s not to buy?”

“...people just tend to call bullshit is all.” And it stings every damn time. He hadn’t even realized he’d been braced for Eliot’s reaction until Eliot hadn’t given him one.

Eliot shrugs. “People are assholes. So what does a law firm consultant do?”

“Ah...this ain’t universal or anything, what  _ I  _ do is review cases, work with Nate on figuring out angles to try, evidence to ask for, and...possibly finding that evidence myself. If need be.”

Eliot eyes him out of the corner of his eyes, the corner of his mouth ticking up. “Completely above board, right?”

“Oh completely.” And Hardison grins, too cheeky and bright.

“Got ya. Nate your boss?”

“He likes to think so. If he wasn’t an insufferable jerk most days, Nate Ford would be the best prosecutor outside of D.C. And that’s literally only because he refuses to step inside D.C. unless he has to.”

“...Nathan Ford?” Hardison pauses the rant he had on the tip of his tongue, glancing over.

“...You know him?”

“Of him, yeah. Ran into him once or twice, though he probably wouldn’t know it.” And that definitely needs explanation. Eliot rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his beer instead of answering immediately. “Told you. Didn’t fall into the kitchen right after high school.”

“Yeah, but Nate does...does law, and before that, he was in insurance. What did you do that’d throw you in his way? ‘Cause no offense man, neither of those fields look like they’d take to you easily.”

Eliot rolls his eyes, but grins slightly. “Fair enough. Nah, it would’ve been when he was working insurance then, this was a good couple of years back. Only knew his name so well ‘cause he was a menace, nice to see that hasn’t really changed. I worked personal security, for awhile, after I got out of the army, for the types that would have their insurance agent on speed dial if something went down. Ford popped up a couple times.”

Which. Huh. As far as Hardison knew, Nate worked insurance fraud cases, and often with some very nasty folks. Eliot working security for those kind of people and being ex-military...definitely gave him a new light.

Molly chose that moment to shove a piece of paper in his face. It took him a moment after going cross-eyed to actually figure out what was actually on the paper. “It’s for you!”

“Oh! Thank you Molly! What a lovely dragon,” He grinned, genuinely touched. The ‘dragon’ was little more than a blob of green and blue glitter with some pink horns for extra flair, what could maybe be a tail and some legs here and there, but he remembered describing a dragon those exact colors in the conversation they’d had at the park. Far as he was concerned, it was a masterpiece, and he had no problem telling Molly so.

She just about puffed up with pride and Hardison reached over to gently ruffle her hair—it got her to laugh and duck away, content to go back to drawing apparently.

“...Younger siblings too, I take it?” Eliot asks, after a moment. Hardison looks over, but he can’t really decipher the expression on Eliot’s face. His eyes are bright again, but the crinkling around his eyes doesn’t look...well, it doesn’t look  _ bad  _ but it doesn’t look good either. Shaking it off as just something he doesn’t know Eliot well enough for—even if the whole thing sits weird in his stomach—he hums and nods.

“Yeah, a handful before I moved out. More since, though I haven’t had the chance to hang out with them much. Nana’s up in Chicago, you know? And with us in Boston...we try to make it up for holidays, but it doesn’t always work. What about you, got any siblings?”

“Nah. Handful of cousins though, including one back home in Oklahoma that might as well be a younger brother, but….” Eliot shrugged, “We were a close family, big one too, all around, so many aunts and uncles and cousins we couldn’t even keep it straight, but one kid was enough for my folks.” He’s watching Molly as he talks, who’s doesn’t seem to be paying them any mind.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure at least a couple things out from that past tense. He may not have gotten a good look at the photos around the living room, but he was pretty confident that none of them were family shots—what little he saw, everyone was around the same age. And the shots with Molly only had Eliot.

Sidestepping  _ that  _ landmine for now.

“You’re lucky there, man. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d kill a man for any of my siblings, even those I ain’t been introduced to yet. But I also would’ve killed a man for five minutes to myself in the bathroom and some hot water left in the morning.”

Eliot snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “Sounds rough.”

“You have no idea. You know, for awhile there, we had a running roll of dares and bets. And the best thing you could offer up? Your shower time. We just about drove Nana nuts with it.”

“Sounds like a strong lady, putting up with all that.”

“All that and more. Man, she’s been helping out kids since she was like. My age. In her sixties and still going strong.” He knows he’s going soft in his smile, but he can’t help it, and from the way Eliot’s looking at him, his own fond smile playing about, he doesn’t seem to mind.

“She ever flies up here, I’d like to meet her.”

“She’s been threatening to since she found out we were moving, so careful what you wish for.” Eliot’s about to say something to that, though what Hardison has no idea, when his own phone blares out the Mission Impossible theme. He knows his grin goes goofy, just like he knows that Eliot’s rolling his eyes because he’s figured out exactly who that is.

It’s just a text, giving him a heads up that Parker’s on her way home.

“...How long you and Parker been together anyway?”

“...Five years now? Holy he-heck.” He squints at nothing on the wall, trying to figure back. He hears a sound from his left, and blindly swats out at Eliot. “Hush, time flies, man.”

“Yeah, yeah, lovebirds.” And Hardison just gives him a lopsided, overbright smile, and laughs when Eliot makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. Eliot can only hold the face for so long though before he’s smiling back, shaking his head and muttering something about them being ridiculous. Which Hardison was more than okay with.

They’re quiet for a couple minutes after that, catching back up on the game still playing, though it’s clear both of them lost the thread a while ago.

About midway through the fourth quarter, Eliot pushes himself up to stretch, grumbling about being too old for the couch or something like that, before glancing back at Hardison, “I was gonna make dinner. You wanna stick around?” It’s trying for casual, Hardison’ll give him that.

“Sure man, sounds great. If it’s not intruding anyway…?” Eliot doesn’t even deign that with a verbal response, just rolling his eyes as he heads for the kitchen. “...Cool. I’ll let Parker know. Thanks.”

“You two allergic to anything?”

“Nothing we can eat.”

“...Uh-huh.”

“We’re good man, we’ll eat almost anything.”

“Should I ask what doesn’t make the cut?” Eliot calls out from the kitchen, where Hardison can hear him banging around through the cabinets and fridge.

“Sea urchin’s just funky, alright?” Hardison calls back, just to hear Eliot laugh and offer a ‘fair enough’. “You want any help?”

“Nah, you’re a guest, don’t worry about it. ‘Sides, most of its made already.”

“...How many times we gotta come over before you throw that guest label out the window and conscript us into the kitchen?”

“Oh, next dinner, you’re definitely helping.” And Hardison just laughs, something warm settling in his chest. The whole afternoon had been nice, learning more about Eliot, figuring out where they might fit together as neighbors or friends or whatever, and while being invited to dinner was nice, knowing that there was definitely going to be another was even better.

* * *

Parker was confused for about two seconds about their sudden plans for the evening, evidenced by the string of ‘???’ he got back in texts, before she decided all was good and told him to give her half an hour to shower and warm up, since the storm outside was still going strong and she was soaked through.

There was a knock at the door almost exactly half an hour later (Hardison was willing to bet it was half an hour on the dot after she sent the text from her end, but didn’t bother to check. Knowing Parker, it was perfect timing), and Eliot called out that it was open.

Parker slipped in, taking in the apartment quietly for a moment before catching sight of Hardison and grinning. “Hey, have fun?”

“Loads, babe. What about you? Manage to terrorize the city?” He’s only half-joking about that. Parker out on a run could be a simple jog or a canvas of the best places to climb about and startle tourists.

“Not this time. Too wet and cold. There’s this awesome little shop we gotta check out later. Couldn’t tell if it was a jewelry shop or an antique shop, but it looked shiny.”

Eliot pokes his head out of the kitchen, raising an eyebrow. “Was it next to a theater?”

Parker pauses, glancing back, then grins. “Yeah. Didn’t catch the name though…”

“It’s Lara’s. The theater is the Dolan. Friend of mine owns both-”

“Aunt Sophie?”

“Yeah Molls, Aunt Sophie. She’s supposed to be back next week. ‘m sure she’d love to give you a tour of that shop. Gallery. Auction house. Whatever she’s calling it this week.” There’s that fond eye roll again. Hardison’s not even sure Eliot’s aware he’s doing it.

“Sounds like an...interesting woman, if she’s running a turntable like that and the theater. Or she just own the theater?”

“Oh no, that theater is her baby. The shop’s more a side-project she got into because she didn’t like the guy that was gonna buy the building next to the theater. Her and her troupe are currently in Boston actually, putting on...what was it Molly, you remember?”

“Shakes- Shakesesp-...Bloody queen!”

“...Remind me to remind Aunt Sophie that  _ Macbeth _ is not an appropriate bedtime story.”

Parker snorts on a laugh, and Eliot just shakes his head, grumbling. It should alarm Hardison that he’s got a pretty good idea what Eliot’s fake-frustration sounds at this point, but it really, really doesn’t.

* * *

Dinner’s an easy thing—an earthy stroganoff that Hardison needed the recipe for immediately, if only to say he’d eventually try to make it himself (maybe), the conversation flowing quickly over light enough topics to keep things hazy and nice.

Parker fills in the table on how her work at the shop’s going, and while Hardison’s heard most of it, there’s apparently a few customer stories she’s been holding out on him with that have Molly laughing and both him and Eliot shaking their heads in disbelief (he’s gonna have to ask her later about the fake Packard 1101 Coupe that she’d heard about rather than actually seen in the shop). Eliot trades her stories of some of the more...interesting students, he’s had the ‘privilege’ of teaching, even for just a day, including the kid that glued the spoon to the plate as decoration. Hardison offers up some of the funnier things he’d heard in court with Nate, including the woman who wouldn’t stop comparing every single thing to chess, and the guy that referred to himself as ‘the Mako’ in all seriousness. Molly, for her part, tells them rambling stories about how awesome Miss Josie is around mouthfuls of pasta, despite Eliot’s continuing efforts to get her to chew first.

It’s the liveliest, homiest dinner either him or Parker have had in...well, frankly, years, and they leave with the promise of doing the whole thing again soon, and Hardison goes to bed that night with smile on his face that’s only matched by Parker’s.


	5. Chapter 5

_Parker_

 

The next few days after their impromptu dinner with Eliot and Molly are calm. The rain stops sometime Saturday night, leaving her and Hardison to go take a better look at the shop she’d found, despite Eliot being quite clear about the fact that it’d be closed until Sophie got back. That was okay, she’d really just wanted to show Hardison what she’d found. He seemed as impressed as she’d been at the sheer amount of _sparkly_ in the window display, as well as by the security tech they could pick out from the windows and around the door.

It was a cool shop, and she was kind of a little excited to meet Sophie, if this was the kind of set up she had.

Other than that though, there wasn’t much to take up their time. They get roped into dinner again with Eliot and Molly on Monday night, because apparently Eliot overheard them discussing (read: bickering about) the merits of pizza versus pad thai, and offered to solve the argument for them. Neither of them really had a problem with getting kidnapped like that, since dinner at Eliot’s apparently meant warmth, homey food, and bubbling laughter, and while she couldn’t speak entirely for Hardison, she’d missed all of those things, even while they were in Boston. She’d only ever really gotten a taste of something similar when she’d gone with Hardison to visit Nana.

(There though, it was always loud, loud, loud. So many people, trying to fit into such a small space, plenty of food to go around and to crowd out the table, booming voices trying to be heard over so many different conversations. It was wonderful. In small doses. Dinner with Eliot and Molly though? It was...it was like soda pop on her tongue—light, bubbly, sharp in quick seconds, sweet the rest.)

By the third time that week they’re roped into dinner, there’s no real attempt to justify it. Molly’s delighted to see them, and apparently to have new people around who haven’t heard all her stories yet; Eliot just seems happy to share whatever recipe he’s found lately (not that he’s said as much, but Parker’s been watching, and she’s pretty sure the crinkles around his eyes are deeper when he’s happy but wants to pretend it’s nothing); and Hardison insists he’s in it for the food (and the fact that Eliot’s an awesome friend, why wouldn’t they spend more time with him if he’s offering?) and he’s absolutely delighted by everything Molly does, so win-win.

They’d said goodnight to Eliot and an already passed out Molly, after helping with the dishes (according to Hardison, Eliot had threatened to make them help by the second dinner, but never actually followed up on it, so it was only fair they helped with the third), about two hours ago, and were settled in on the couch for a movie before bed. The knock on the door startled both of them.

Parker’s the one that ends up getting up when the second knock comes, lighter this time. She peeks through the peephole before frowning and throwing open the door.

Eliot’s there, looking like he just rolled back out of bed, in a jacket thrown over a tanktop and sweats. Molly’s on his hip, dressed in a Princess and the Frog nightgown, looking half-asleep at best.

Before Parker can even ask what’s going on, Eliot’s rambling, clearly still reeling from waking up too quickly, “There was an accident at the school, one of the night classes, I don’t know there’s an ambulance involved, I’d normally ask Amy but she’s visiting her aunt this week, and I’ll only be an hour, two tops, I’ll pay you whatever-”

“Eliot.” He pauses, takes a breath.

“Right. Sorry. Can you watch Molly for like, an hour? Two tops. I need to run to the school. I’ll pay yo-I say that again I’m gonna get tasered, aren’t I?” Parker snorts and nods, holding out her arms. Eliot passes Molly to her easily, even if the motion wakes her up a little more. Enough to complain about the shift at least, as she reaches out and curls her little fingers in Eliot’s shirt.

“Uncl’ Ellie…” It’s a quiet thing, clearly a reaction more than anything. Eliot just smiles softly, gently untangling her fingers before hooking their pinky fingers together and pressing his lips to his knuckles. Molly blearily repeats the motion before collapsing back against Parker’s shoulder.

“Be back later munchkin. Be good for Parker and Hardison alright?” There’s no real response forthcoming, but Eliot doesn’t seem to mind, almost immediately glancing back up at Parker, “Thank you so much. I owe you both.”

“Go on, we’ve got her. Promise. Shoo!” And Eliot laughs, and Parker grins, and gently shuts the door as Eliot just about bolts for the stairwell.

“...Did he seriously offer to pay us?” Is Hardison’s reply in the quiet that follows.

“I know, right? We’ll talk about it later. Do we want her out here or should I put her down in our bed?”

“...Maybe out here? If she wakes up it might be better for her to be able to see us instead of just waking up in a strange place.”

Parker nods and while Hardison goes to switch the movie out to something both quieter and more kid friendly, in case she does wake up, Parker works on making a space for Molly on their ridiculous couch.

Before she can even think to ask, Hardison’s at her side, holding out one of the pillows from their bed, and it’s easy enough to settle Molly into the corner of the couch, tucked up with the comforter. The lights from the tv don’t seem to bother her at all, and Parker doubted Eliot would object to Lilo & Stitch.

A quick text to Eliot to let them know when everyone’s okay when he gets the chance, and her and Hardison settle back in on the other end of the couch.

Molly doesn’t make a noise for a good hour, only moving to starfish out around her little corner, but around midnight, she’s scrunching up her face and muttering. Parker’s not really surprised when she blinks her eyes open, heavy-lidded and bleary.

“Eliot…?” She asks, soft enough that if Parker hadn’t been paying attention, she probably would’ve missed it. Knows Hardison did, since he’s half-asleep himself beside her.

“Hey Molly, do you remember coming over here?” Parker asks, quietly, but apparently not enough to avoid startling Hardison, whose head shoots up from where it had been resting on her shoulder.

Molly blinks at her a couple times before shoving herself up with a yawn, rubbing at her eyes with pudgy little fists. “Mmph…?”

“I’m gonna take that as a solid maybe. Eliot had to run to the school. Wanna wait up for him with us?” Molly nods, head bobbing like she’s not quite in complete control of it. Parker gently pats the cushion beside her, only to laugh softly when Molly struggles to haul the massive blanket over with her, shifting over to help. It takes a couple minutes to get settled again, but soon, Molly’s leaning against her right side, tucked under her arm, with the blanket across hers and Parker’s laps, Hardison’s back in his spot leaning on Parker’s left shoulder, and Lilo & Stitch 2 is playing on low on the tv.

Molly ends up passed out within five minutes, Hardison right behind her.

It takes some maneuvering, but Parker manages to get an arm free without waking either of them, grabbing her phone and holding it up high enough to get a shot of all three of them. Her smile’s probably a little too crooked, and she’s pretty sure one of the two of the others is drooling on her at this point. But a quick look at the picture shows it’s as cute as she’d thought it’d be.

It takes a moment to weigh the pros and cons before sending the picture to Eliot, with the caption ‘she wanted to wait up for you’. After its sent, she has a moment of doubt—Eliot had been fine with both of them carrying Molly around the apartment the last couple of days, seemed to be fine with Molly deciding to tackle hug both of them, had practically shoved Molly into her arms. And they were getting closer pretty fast, with the dinners that had stretched into the late evening every single time, but still… people had their things, especially with their kids. And this might be a thing Parker didn’t know about.

Eliot responds barely a minute later, ‘What’s your excuse then?’ And Parker just grins, trying not to laugh so she doesn’t shake the other two.

‘Someone had to be the pillow’

‘Generous of you. I’ll try to be back before your arms fall asleep.’

* * *

It takes another hour or so before there’s a soft knock on the door. It takes a couple tries for him to hear her “It’s open!” but when he does, Eliot slips in as quietly as he can manage. Not that he really needed to bother—Hardison, when he was honestly, truly asleep, wouldn’t wake for a tornado, let alone someone opening the door. It was concerning.

And Molly was still sacked out like a bag of potatoes on her other side, as unbothered by the door as Hardison was.

She grins and waves slightly at Eliot from where she’d managed to keep her hand relatively free around Molly’s shoulders.

“Everything okay then? You didn’t text.”

Eliot pauses, and Parker, now that she’s looking, can see the stiff set to his shoulders, even as it slowly melts away, and frowns, eyeing him over a little more closely.

“Grease fire, couple of the kids panicked, made things worse before we could get a handle on it. Two of the kids got away with a couple burns, but nothing too bad. Ambulance was called as a precaution, not a necessity.” He shrugs, dragging a hand over his face. “They were unsupervised for five minutes, tops.” And Parker hums, because its all she can really do. It sounded like a mess of a situation, but nothing that any of them could’ve done much about.

“Thanks again for watching her. She wasn’t any trouble?”

“Nah. Stayed out for the first hour, woke up a bit to ask where you were, then hasn’t moved since.” Parker says, waving her hand in Molly’s general direction as a _see?_

The smile she gets is small, crinkles more around his eyes than his mouth, and Parker can’t help but smile back.

“If you two aren’t busy tonight, feel free to stop by yeah? If you won’t let me pay you, dinner’s the least I can do.” Eliot says as he slips around to the back of the couch, gently picking Molly up and shushing her when she fusses.

“And the other three dinners that weren’t thank you dinners…?” It’s too dark to really tell, but Parker would swear there’s a bit more color in his cheeks.

“...Okay, so it’s not the least I could do, but it is the easiest, and I know you two won’t complain about it.”

“Figured. Go on, get some sleep, we’ll see you two tonight.” Eliot gives her that small, crinkly smile again, before he’s heading for the door, gently pulling it shut behind him.

Parker briefly debates just staying on the couch for the night, before remembering that that’s the last thing Hardison’s back or her knees needs. It’s an easy enough thing to wake him up, a shake to the shoulder, a kiss to the cheek, and he’s blinking blearily, insisting that he’s awake and most definitely hadn’t been sleeping, no sir.

Parker just snorts and gently shoves him off the couch, herding him down the hall and to bed. There’s a brief moment of resistance where he stares at the spot on the couch where Molly had been, but a quick “Eliot just got her, we’ve got dinner plans now, come on, bed!” gets him moving again.

* * *

‘Dinner plans’ very quickly came to mean almost every other day. Parker’s pretty sure, looking back, that most people don’t go from talking occasionally to crashing dinner whenever they could within the span of a month, but, no one was complaining, and as far as she was concerned, that meant they were good to go.

It wasn’t always a big production, full home-cooked meal, sit-down type dinner, after the first couple, which Parker supposed helped make it seem more...normal, quicker. Sometimes, her and Hardison would crash in before Eliot could get to the kitchen, throwing out excuses like it was their turn and since they couldn’t cook to save their lives (well, not entirely true, but their combined repertoire was a mish-mash of random dishes that neither of them had made in years at this point) they’d be ordering in, what did Eliot and Molly want?

Molly thought it was the best thing ever, and frequently told Eliot so. To the point where take out was limited to once a week.

The combined puppy-dog eyes of Parker, Hardison, and Molly did not persuade him to change his mind.

Even when it wasn’t take out though, there were some nights when Eliot pulled out leftovers, dumped them into bowls, and the first one to the living room got to pick the movie for the night.

(Molly won more often than not, and Parker wasn’t sure which to be more impressed by: that she legitimately won by out-sneaking all of them, or that her range of movies went from Disney classics to Aliens. Apparently Newt was her _real_ favorite person ever, but since she wasn’t real, Hardison and Amy—and more often now, Parker, which made her feel a couple kind of ways she didn’t have words for—would work as a substitute.)

When Hardison and Parker proved that they wouldn’t burn water, Eliot started hauling at least one of them into the kitchen for the sit-down dinner nights, either for chopping vegetables, watching the stove, or just to talk, while the other hung out with Molly in the living room.

It was disturbing, how quick everything just felt...normal, and if Parker let herself dwell on it, she might freak out (and maybe she had, at least once, late at night, with Hardison there to talk her through it).

But Hardison was looking brighter as the weeks went on, animated and bubbly and _happy_ , and while she herself still held her nights alone with Hardison as precious, she had to admit, she missed those dinners, those nights they didn’t go.

Life continued at an easy pace at the shop. Archie occasionally dropped in, though he never really stayed long—just long enough to catch up on how they were settling in, how Hardison was doing, and to tell her she looked...lighter, than he’d seen her in months.

Nate still had Hardison on enforced vacation, and no one was more surprised than Nate when he found out Hardison was more or less sticking to it, telling them over the speakerphone that he was happy for them, settling in so quickly. The suspicious note to his tone was totally expected, but wholly unneeded, honestly.

* * *

Neither her nor Hardison are all that surprised when there’s a knock on the door, a handful of weeks after this whole thing started. Last night Eliot had been distracted, conceding to take out for the second time that week. When they’d asked—carefully, when Molly wasn’t listening, just in case—he’d said it was nothing, had given them both that easy smile that Parker was pretty sure was practiced to be as calming as possible. (People practiced those right?)

Opening the door, Parker just raised an eyebrow at a sheepish looking Eliot. Molly however, either completely oblivious to Eliot’s awkwardness or ignoring it entirely, opted to let go of his hand so she could give Parker an impressive hug for a six year old. Parker was all too happy to return it, and couldn’t resist scooping her up into a wild swing that had her laughing and clinging on tight.

When Parker looked back at Eliot, there was this...look on his face. His eyes were crinkled, like when he smiled, but that’s where it stayed. Before she could try to decipher it further, Eliot shook his head, looking normal a moment later.

“So uh...Amy’s studying tonight, and Jenny’s already left Randy at a friend’s for the night so she could go out, and Toby needs me to come down to the school. Normally, I’d take her with me, but she’s normally bored out of her mind and-”

“You do realize we’ll happily watch her without the long-winded explanations right?” Hardison calls out from where Parker knows he’s in the kitchen.

Eliot just looks more sheepish, but Parker just rolls her eyes. “What he said. We’re cool with watching Molly, and Molly’s cool with staying here for a bit, right Molls?”

“Yep!” Is Molly’s too-loud reply, even as she starts moving—either trying to climb up Parker’s side or get down, Parker can’t tell.

“...Right. I’ll uh. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, tops?” He holds out a bright aqua backpack, which Parker takes, though it’s either hold onto the backpack or hold onto Molly, so the backpack ends up at her feet.

“No more grease fires?”

“No! Uh-I mean. No, nothing like that. Toby just wants to me to take a look at a couple things.” Eliot smiles then, tired but honestly, and Parker finds herself trusting him easily.

“Go on then. We got her.”

“Thank you. Her coloring stuff’s in there, as well as a couple books, a change of clothes just in case.” Eliot says, that crinkled look back to his eyes, before he just smiles, catching Molly’s attention enough to do their customary pinky promise, and heads down the hall.

Parker shuts the door and sets Molly down, eyeing her over for a moment. She looks fine—rested, clothes neat, hair up in a complicated braid that Parker can’t quite follow, what with how, almost as soon as Molly’s on the ground, she’s bolting for the kitchen to tackle a mock-surprised Hardison.

Eliot said everything was fine, and Molly proved it.

So, evening of babysitting it was.

* * *

For all that Molly definitely has energy enough to rival Hardison on a caffeine high, she seems content to split the evening drawing with Parker at the dining table, watching Hardison play one of his video games on his computer (and she’s absolutely delighted when she gets to give it a try, even if that doesn’t last too long), and, as things wind down later and later, to eat some mac and cheese and settle in for the Lion King.

Eliot texts around 8:30 that he thought he’d be home by then, but he’ll be running a little late, as long as they’re okay with it.

Parker rolls her eyes at the message and tosses her phone at Hardison so he can respond.

Molly’s backpack also has a change of pjs and her toothbrush (“He always packs too much!”) and while there’s definitely some wheedling for a little more time up, she doesn’t fuss too much about getting ready for bed after Hardison promises to read to her.

They get her set up in their bed this time, figuring they should try to actually get her to sleep comfortably this time, and Hardison sits on the edge of the bed so she can lean into his side to see the book (his copy of _The Hobbit_ , since apparently the books she brought with her weren’t _bedtime books Hardison!_ ).

Parker listens for a little while as Hardison reads, from her spot on the couch, finds herself almost nodding off too. She’d never had much patience for Tolkien, but listening to Hardison’s low voice over the rolling pages in the quiet apartment, and to the quiet questions by the curious little girl next to him, she wonders if she could grow to love it as much as he does.

* * *

She’s not entirely sure if this is like the dinner thing, or...or if it’s something more intentional than that, but that makes it sound bad, like Eliot’s foisting his kid off on them, and that’s not what she means. Maybe less intentional, more like they’re now aware of just how much is going on, because he’s including them in it? She liked that better.

Either way, the babysitting thing becomes a Thing. Like the dinners became a Thing.

They can’t always watch her, of course, and to be honest, he doesn’t ask them too often anyway.

Her and Hardison still spend a truly impressive number of nights at Eliot’s for dinner. They still have nights to themselves, still go about their own business for the days. But now, every couple of days, maybe twice a week, Eliot will ask if they can watch Molly while he goes down to the school.

(Parker knows, at least one of those nights, he wasn’t going to the school, because he was a little too worn around the edges, a little too rough, and you know, the running shoes gave it away too. But she didn’t feel a need to call him on it, and if he looked particularly grateful that night, it was something to be kept between them.)

Some nights, she knows, he’ll still ask Amy or Ms. Trent,, especially if he knows he’s going to be gone until the early hours of the morning.

Once or twice, Parker or Hardison have had to tell him they can’t (once because Archie had invited them out to dinner, and once because Parker was too antsy to stay inside for the night and that had rubbed off on Hardison, and they’d been itching to just get out and go). He never asks why, just takes it with a smile and figures something else out, easy as that. There’s no...pressure, no urgency, to his asking, just like there’s no formality or anxiety around their dinners.

It’s just. Normal.

(Frighteningly so, in the two and a half months since this all started.)

It’s normal, to laugh with Eliot and Hardison over a drink after dinner, while they argue about who, in their varying lines of work, had the most ridiculous client.

Hardison had filled her in on what little Eliot had given him about his work, all that time ago, but since then, he’s shared that he was in the army until he was twenty-three before he jumped ship. Ended up going into private security up until four years ago, and while he still won’t tell them much about either of them, especially when Molly’s in hearing distance, he’ll share small pieces of what Parker’s pretty sure are the only good stories. It’s as much a treasure she hoards as Hardison’s stories about his Nana and foster siblings. And she feels like her stories about the trouble she got into before Archie found her, and the customers she deals with in the shop now, are just as treasured by both men listening.

It’s normal to sit down and listen to Molly’s latest story about her adventures with Randy and Trevor, or what Miss Josie has managed to get her to pay attention to, or—and this is Parker’s favorite—her trying to tell Eliot all about _The Hobbit_. It takes him two days to realize she’s telling him about a book and not just making up a story, her version so colored with her own fantasies that it’s almost a completely different story.

(But that crinkling smile in his eyes is back when he looks at Hardison after.)

It’s completely normal for Parker to come home from work, find the apartment empty, and go across the hall to find Eliot and Hardison bickering while they make dinner. Or for Hardison to realize she’s been out of the apartment for a little while, come looking, and find her and Molly perched on the couch singing along to whatever movie they managed to convince Eliot to let them watch, while he just shakes his head and laughs at them from the kitchen.

Three months in, their normal looks like nothing Parker would’ve thought they’d ever find, and while it should be terrifying in the enormity of it’s normalcy, she can’t...really make herself care.

It feels like home, and that’s all she needs.

(And if a warmth blooms in her stomach when she tells Hardison about it, and all he can say is “Me too,” well. That just settles it.)


	6. Chapter 6

_ Eliot _

 

Eliot doesn’t think much about it when Molly starts coughing on Sunday. Well no, that’s not right. He jumps to when Molly starts coughing. But a glass of water seems to put her right and there’s so much more going on during the day that it doesn’t really...click.

He gets about two days before he realizes he might be a bit of a clueless dumbass, sometimes, when it came to his kid. Or kids in general.

By that point, the poor thing is passed out on the couch, finally knocked out after a kid’s dose of nyquil, having spent most of the morning sniffling hard enough to give herself a headache, and coughing strong enough to shake her little frame.

Just in time for him to breathe out a sigh of relief, and then freeze, because the scratch at the back of his throat is new.

He cancels on Parker and Hardison before they can even knock on the door, shooting off a text message he’s pretty sure contains the words ‘doctor’s appointment’ and ‘maybe in a couple days’ and ‘sorry’ but who knows. His main priority is making sure Molly’s got a cold and nothing worse. Her fever’s been steady and low since she woke up this morning, but just how hard she’d been coughing has him worried.

The doctor’s appointment doesn’t do a whole lot, in the way of practical help, but he is assured she just caught a bug, should pass in a couple days, and it’s not much to worry about. Of course, if being a damn cold, he also can’t really...do much. Especially when, by late that night, it’s very clear that in the two days before it became obvious, it passed to him as well.

By Thursday morning, he’s running the same low-grade fever as Molly, his whole body just  _ aches  _ and his head is just this side of stuffed, and they’re both about as useful as damp towels, stretched out across the couch with a fan going, watching something Eliot didn’t catch the name of, but it distracted Molly enough for her to at least try relaxing.

He’d managed to get her to take a cool bath to help, and she’s at least been eating (toast and peanut butter, whatever, he’ll take it), even if he can’t quite settle his stomach enough to try.

When Parker and Hardison text to ask after both of them, which they’ve been doing since Eliot told them about the doctor’s appointment, all he can really send back is that they’re miserable but they’ll be okay. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he could just about see them rolling their eyes.

* * *

Friday sees Molly screaming. She’s tired, aching, bored out of her mind, and done and  _ hurting _ , and Eliot can’t do a damn thing about it except try to convince her to take some dayquil (he’s not proud of stooping to bribery with that, by the way. But it doesn’t work anyway, so maybe he’ll get a pass) and to rest.

She’s clearly done trying to relax though, and at this point, Eliot’s pretty sure the meds are making her as nauseous as the fever, because now she doesn’t want to eat, and that crap on an empty stomach can do a number on him, let alone a six year old.

The tv doesn’t hold her attention, food’s out the window, she doesn’t want him holding her, but being more than five feet away sends her into a fit, trying to draw ends up giving her a headache, which just frustrates her more because of the struggle it was to get everything out to the living room, and by the time she bursts into frustrated tears, Eliot’s just trying to figure out damage control.

Eliot hasn’t cried since well before he brought Molly home (something Sophie would happily tell him is not healthy in the goddamn least, but, she’s still not here and if she could get out of his head, that’d be great), but with how much his head is pounding on top of watching his baby girl break down over something so stupid, hurting over something so trivial that he can’t fucking  _ fix _ just might do it.

Molly’s screaming at him about...something—he doesn’t know. She’d been reduced to frustrated half-sentences about half an hour ago and he’s just trying to keep up and failing miserably—when there’s a knock at the door.

Molly doesn’t seem to notice, having turned her frustrations to the paper spread over the coffee table that she never got around to drawing on.

Moving from the couch is a monumental effort if there ever was one, but Eliot manages after the second knock comes, much more insistent, and clearly not going away.

He knows he looks like shit. That’s just a given. The wince from Hardison when Eliot opens the door though is completely unnecessary and slightly insulting.

There’s the sound of a crash behind him, and Eliot can’t even bother to pretend to be insulted anymore, he just slumps against the door.

“What.” And maybe it’s a little rude, but honestly, he kind of just wants to go back to the couch. It’s nice to see Hardison and Parker at his door, always is. But he hasn’t slept in two days, and he’s pretty sure Molly just broke a lamp, and he just wants to crawl into bed and stay there, but he can’t, because Molly won’t leave his side even if she kind of hates him right now. So, couch.

“...Well good afternoon sunshine.” Hardison shoots back, raising an eyebrow. Before Eliot can get up the energy to growl out a response to that, he keeps going. “Cool it man, we’re just here to help, if you’ll let us. We can hear her across the hall, and it sounds dire.”

Eliot blinks at them. Then actually looks. Notices that Hardison’s carrying a large bag, and while he’s still smiling, there’s a hard set to his eyes that Eliot can either take as concern, or determination. Parker’s not carrying anything, but her arms are crossed over her chest, and she’s trying to peek around him, frown firmly set in place.

“...You get sick, that’s on you.” Is about all he can really offer. He hasn’t seen too much evidence of it, but he’s pretty damn sure these two could steamroll over him very, very easily, even when he’s feeling one hundred percent (and that’s a damn lie, he’s seen plenty of it. They’ve slid right into his life without much of his say so, and he wouldn’t have it any other way, except maybe right now, but that’s a completely different situation).

And he might’ve zoned out there for a moment, because the next thing he knows, Hardison’s shaking his head and muttering “Wow,” before gently pushing Eliot back into the apartment. “If Molly’s okay with it, it okay if Parker takes her over to our place? We’ve got some kid’s cold meds, and more of this,” he holds up the bag like that’s supposed to explain anything, “if she gets hungry, and, no offence man, it looks like you two need to take a break from each other.”

Eliot wants to argue. He does. The parent in him is telling him to keep his sick, hurting kid, as close as he can until she’s better.

But Molly’s sitting on the couch now, arms crossed over her chest, hair a goddamn mess because sitting still enough for him to brush it is out of the question, and she’s in the same pjs as yesterday, and she’s giving them all a glare hard enough to rival any he could drum up.

“...Maybe a bit.” Eliot mutters. Literally nothing he’s doing anymore is working, and even if there is a skip in his heart as he admits it to himself, he trusts Parker and Hardison with Molly, has since they took her without question the night of the fire. Probably did before.

Still, he can’t make that decision alone, or they’d all just end up with an even bigger mess on their hands, so he pads back over to the couch, gingerly crouching down to Molly’s height, even as his knees and back protest the movement.

“Hey munchkin.” She sniffles slightly, but just glares harder, eyes suspiciously bright and Eliot can’t tell if its her fever or if she’s about to start crying again, her cheeks still blotchy red from the last bout. “Do you want to go hang out with Parker for a bit? Get out of the apartment?”

Molly shakes her head hard enough to send her hair flying, but Eliot can see her face, even when she brings her hands up to rub at her eyes.

“You sure? You’ve been bored here all day, I’m sure Parker’s more fun than hanging out with me right now, huh?”

And Molly peeks up at him from where her hair’s fallen in her face. She still looks suspicious, but it’s the most interest he’s seen out of her in days, so he’ll take it.

“Just across the hall, yeah? I’m staying here, so if you want to come back, no one’ll stop you alright?”

Molly considers it for another moment, before squinting over at Parker, who, bless her, puts on a megawatt smile. Molly nods, just barely then, and Eliot can’t quite help the slump in his shoulders.

“Alright, let me at least get her dressed....In different pjs at least, baby. Come on, up we go.” He scoops her up, relieved when she just grabs onto his shirt instead of smacking and kicking at him like the last time he’d tried to pick her up.

Hardison and Parker seem content to give them a few moments, Hardison making his way to the kitchen, and Parker hanging out in the living room, while Eliot gets Molly changed into a clean set of pjs and packs her backpack (books, coloring stuff if she wants to try again, one of her stuffed animals that she’s started insisting she’s too big for, and a damn hair brush because while he’s not attempting  _ that  _ again right now, he knows that if she calms down, her hair’s going to start to bug her).

Parker takes both Molly and the backpack easily enough, says “Goodbye boys,” and is out the door almost before Eliot can blink.

But the apartment’s quiet, besides Hardison shuffling around in the kitchen, and Molly had cracked a small, ghost of a smile right before she left, and Eliot just wants to sleep for a week.

“Go take a shower, E. You look like you’re about to collapse.” He startles slightly, glancing back over at where Hardison’s watching him, leaned against the kitchen counter.

“...Don’t know if I’ll make it that far.” He mutters, ignoring Hardison’s snort, and heading that way anyway.

* * *

He doesn’t collapse in the shower, thankfully. He does almost fall asleep though, which is another problem entirely.

When he gets out, he doesn’t feel perfect, but he does feel  _ better _ .

Not enough to put much effort into getting the frizzy curls he’s going to have under control, but enough that he’s pretty sure he could make it to that night before passing out again at least. The clean clothes probably helped too.

When he comes back into the living room, it’s been cleaned of paper and crayons, and the busted lamp is nowhere in sight, and Hardison’s on the couch flicking through channels. There’s two bowls of something hot on the coffee table, and even if food doesn’t sound all that great right now, Eliot knows he needs to eat something, so the sight’s welcome.

He collapses maybe a little heavily onto the couch, if the exaggerated “Oof” from Hardison is anything to go by.

“Hey look, he lives!”

Eliot rolls his eyes, but lets himself smile slightly, even as he tries to swat at Hardison’s shoulder. It doesn’t work—he’s still too groggy and Hardison is perfectly healthy and apparently perfectly capable of dodging still—but still.

“...Thank you.” He mutters, a long moment after Hardison’s laughed at him and gone back to the tv.

“No sweat man. I know how rough this crap can get,” Eliot shoots him a look, “Horde of younger siblings remember? Oh you should’ve seen the house the year the twins got an ear infection. And gave it to everyone under the age of ten. It was awful. And terrifying. And possibly traumatizing.” Eliot snorts but nods slightly. He can imagine, if only just.

“...Molly never been this sick before?” Hardison asks after watching him for a moment. Eliot doesn’t know what his face does, but he knows it’s not pretty. He didn’t think it was  _ that  _ obvious, how much he was struggling with this, that Hardison picked up on it within five minutes. “Hey, hey, cool it. I only ask because you look  _ beat _ . And slightly shell-shocked. That’s all. You can also tell me to shut up, anytime I cross a line alright? No need to look like I’m about to shoot you, or whatever that face was.”

Eliot groans and scrubs a hand over his face. Or at least, that’s the intent. His hand kind of just ends up staying over his eyes because the dark is nice on his headache, and moving much farther sounds like a pain.

“No, in the two years I’ve had her, she hasn’t been this sick. And it’s fucking stupid ‘cause it’s not even...it’s a cold. A damn stubborn one, but that’s all it is. I remember her mom calling and telling me about the ear infection and pneumonia scare they’d had, when she was two, and if this is how it is with a  _ cold  _ I can’t even imagine what they went through with  _ that _ .” He doesn’t mean to spill that much, but it’s out there, and he’s too tired to backtrack.

“...Uh-huh. Well, for what it’s worth, you lasted longer than I did with the ear infections.”

“One child versus a household, and you were how old? Thanks Hardison, makes me feel loads better.” It’s a grumble, but Eliot can’t deny he does actually feel a little better, and from Hardison’s quirked up smile, he damn well knows it too. “What is this anyway?” He grabs the bowl, eyeing it for a moment. “...You got chicken noodle soup?” And maybe he sounds a little incredulous, but that’s honestly only because he’s trying not to laugh. He’s not going to knock a classic though, so he settles back into the couch.

“Correction, I  _ made  _ chicken noodle soup. Nana sent me the recipe. And then demanded we skype the entire time so she could watch and make sure I made it right.”

“...Can’t cook my ass.”

“Hey now, no, we admitted we could cook. It just takes awhile, and has more danger of setting your kitchen on fire because we can’t remember recipes very well.”

Eliot laughs, even though it scratches at his throat. “If you say so Hardison…”

The soup’s damn good though—light enough on his stomach that he’s not immediately regretting biting the bullet, and hot enough to help with his throat, and he’s going to have to figure out how to thank Hardison’s Nana, because this is perfect.

“I’m gonna take those sounds as a seal of approval. And possibly record them and send them to Parker so she can laugh with me.” Eliot doesn’t look over, but does move his hand enough to flip Hardison off, who just laughs and grabs his own bowl.

Eliot tunes back into the tv about the same time Tom Cruise is dangling from the roof and sweating dramatically, and has to roll his eyes. “Really?”

“Mission Impossible is a fantastic example of so-bad-it’s-good action from the 90s, don’t knock it. Besides, it was either this or the ninth Rocky or whatever.”

“...There’s not nine of them.” Hardison flaps a hand at him, effectively ending that conversation. And honestly, the movie’s mindless enough that Eliot can’t complain too much. Not even to get a rise out of Hardison, which should tell him exactly how wiped he is.

He’s not quite sure when his empty bowl disappears. Or when the movie switches over to Terminator 2, though he does vaguely remember Hardison muttering about it being bad 90s day apparently.

He’s not sleeping, still vaguely interacting with everything, but he is zoning, and its more restful than anything he’s done in days.

“You with us again, man?” Hardison asks, when Eliot mutters something about John Connor being a right brat. All Eliot can really do to that is motion ‘so-so’ with his hand.

Seems enough for Hardison though. “You know, I meant it, earlier. You’re doing fine, if this is the first time Molly’s been sick.” He says, gently, and Eliot glances over sidelong. Hardison just shrugs.

“I still don’t know what’s going on with you two, ain’t my place to ask, but uh, getting a four year old dropped on you and only now dealing with the hell that is a sick child? You’re fine.”

And something in his chest unclenches, and Eliot resolutely ignores it. “...Thanks.” It’s not what he meant to say, sounds a little too raw to his own ears, but Hardison just hums and nods.

Eliot eyes him for a long moment. “...I’m gonna assume anything I tell you, Parker’ll hear about it?”

“Well I mean...yeah, most likely. If it’s really a big deal, I won’t, of course. But we kind of tell each other everything, eventually. According to Archie, it’s disgustingly sweet sometimes, and also means I’m not allowed in on any planning of any kind for parties for Parker since I can’t keep them a secret, and according to Nate, we’re weird.” Hardison shrugs and shoots Eliot a goofy grin. Eliot doesn’t quite return it, but it’s a close thing.

“Uh-huh.” He glances at the tv for a moment, rolling a couple things over in his head. “...Y’all never asked.”

“About what?”

“Molly.”

“...Well yeah. It ain’t our business? And you’re our friend. Asking awkward questions out of nowhere ain’t exactly friendly.”

Eliot snorts slightly, shifting slightly down the couch so he can spread out a bit more. It’s hell on his upper back, but the knot that’s been sitting on his lower spine all day just about melts, so he can’t really care all that much. “You’d be surprised.”

“Nah, don’t really think I would. People hear foster mom and...run with it.” Eliot blinks, then winces slightly. He hadn’t even considered that. “And then they hear that Archie’s not Parker’s dad, and run with  _ that _ .” And Eliot sinks deeper into the couch with a groan.

“Right, got it, people are assholes no matter the situation.” Hardison snorts, but he’s grinning slightly.

“Just a bit man.”

“...Well, clearly, Molly’s not mine.”

“Really? That scowl could’ve fooled me. See, that one!” Eliot laughs, breaking the scowl, because he can’t not. That’s just how it is around these two—he tries and tries to keep up a front, and they happily steamroll over it without a second thought. It makes him feel weird—loopy almost, but he’s also willing to blame  _ that  _ feeling on the fever—but it’s addicting too. It’s why he’s had no problems with them coming over to dinner even when he hasn’t explicitly invited them. No problem with Parker dropping in because she’s bored and she knows him and Molly are home, or Hardison waltzing in because he knows the door’s unlocked, and he wants some say in that night’s dinner.

What was he talking about?

Hardison’s looking at him weird, and Eliot realizes he’s got an incredibly goofy smile on his face, so he just shakes his head, glancing back at the tv.

“Godfather. Not uncle. I was friends with her parents, worked for them for a little while too. Thought they were...not joking, but not entirely serious, you know? When they asked me. Of course I said yes. Didn’t think much of it. Watched her grow up in bits and pieces, occasionally visited. Got called Ellie and Uncle Eliot, and it was always a crapshoot if she’d actually remember me when I came to visit, or would just be going off cues from her parents. Her mom…” He pauses.

There’s something in the back of his mind asking why he’s spilling like this, running over with no prompting. And he doesn’t have an answer for it, besides the fact that he’s tired, he’s hurting, and he needs someone to see that he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, because he’s not supposed to be doing it, but that he’s trying anyway. And Hardison already gave him a taste of that, of that easy acceptance that he’s  _ trying _ . Only seems fair he gets the whole picture.

(He’s pretty sure none of that will make sense when he’s properly rested, but whatever.)

He takes a breath. “Her mom died when she was three, breast cancer. I knew she’d been fighting it, but I didn’t know how bad it had gotten until they told me she was in the hospital, and by that point I was able to fly in to say goodbye, keep her dad going as best I could, and that was about it. I don’t think she remembers a whole lot about it, and I don’t know whether to be grateful, or to wish she did, if only so she could have more memories of her mom. And her dad...it was an accident. Drunk driver t-boned him on his way home. I got a call a day later, telling me he was gone, and that I was in the will as Molly’s next of kin. The uh...the social worker wasn’t too impressed when I showed up, confused as hell and barely holding it together myself.”

It’s a lot. He knows it is. But he hasn’t shared that much since everything happened. No one on the floor knew. Sophie only knew as much as she did because she was there those first couple of months watching him try to get everything settled despite the floor being swept out from under his feet. She’s the reason he was presentable for the social worker when she came by to check up on them, and she was the reason he made it to a point where it wasn’t even a front. But he never actually  _ told  _ her anything, besides the bare bones.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tight in the next moment, and Eliot can’t help but lean into it, his shoulders slumping and his spine losing what’s left of it’s tension.

“...You know, I wasn’t supposed to end up at Nana’s?” Hardison starts with. He doesn’t remove his hand from Eliot’s shoulder, and he’s looking at the tv when Eliot looks over. “Her place was full. Too many kids, in too short a time frame. I was supposed to go see a family in Springfield. Apparently, she straight up told them no, came to get me herself. I don’t know why, and she hasn’t told me. But I was eleven years old, sitting in my case worker’s office—man, I was pathetic. Braces that didn’t really fit anymore, coke-bottle glasses, had a backpack with everything I owned at my feet that had been old when it had been sold at the surplus store a decade before. The last family I’d been with, they were nice, you know? But they couldn’t handle another kid. For them, four was too many, and too many things slipped by the wayside while they were trying to focus on everything. And I’d only been with them for a couple months.” Eliot reaches up to curl his hand around the one clapped on his shoulder. Hardison doesn’t really react, beyond losing the sharpness to his frown, which Eliot’ll take as a win.

“Anyway, I’m expecting my case worker to come in, bustle me into her car, and off to Springfield we’ll go, right? Instead, this big woman bursts in. Steel grey curls—you know like those big seventies curls?—bright yellow dress, eyes that could cut a man, and she’s staring right at me. She asks if I’m Alec, and of course at this point I’m just confused as hell, but saying no to Nana just doesn’t happen, and then she asks if I wanted to move to Springfield or if I wanted to stay in Chicago. I didn’t much care, not really. I’d lived there as long as I could remember, but I’d been bounced through most of the neighborhoods that nothing had much of a hold on me. So I’d shrugged at her. And she’d turned to my case worker in the doorway, said she’d like to give me a home, if that was okay with me. And I guess they didn’t want to tell her no either, ‘cause I went home with her.”

“It was loud, chaotic, and there probably wasn’t enough room for me, not really. Didn’t seem to matter much to her. Told me if I wanted to make it a home, then it was my home, and they’d figure it out. And I did, I really wanted to make it a home, after a little while. Didn’t know how though. No one had ever...given me that blueprint, you know? I raised a lotta hell that I definitely shouldn’t have gotten away with, trying to figure everything out. And I know more than once, Nana was on the phone with my case worker, trying to figure out if they had any information that could help. Pretty sure I’m the reason her hair stayed grey, even when she stopped dying it. And she teases about it now, but I know it wasn’t easy, dealing with me, and all the other kids on top of that. Having the older kids around to help babysit is probably the only reason she didn’t completely lose it, until I figured my shit out like five years later. And that was only after she sat me down and we had the most terrifying talk I’ve ever had, about her wanting to adopt me, officially. I thought she was trying to buy my cooperation, you know? And hell man, it would’ve worked too. But she told me she didn’t expect me to change. Didn’t expect me to be any easier on her. She just wanted to give me a home I could trust. Like,  _ actually  _ trust, and if this was the only way to do it, she’d be proud to call me  _ her _ hellraising kid.”

Hardison lets go of his shoulder at that point, and Eliot’s reluctant to let go of his hand, but it’d be weird to fight that, so he does. Hardison doesn’t really leave him hanging though, instead shifting over on the couch so their shoulders are leaned together.

“Point was, I didn’t realize it at the time, but that was her struggling. That was her throwing ideas at the wall and hoping they’d stick. Probably wasn’t the  _ best  _ option, ‘cause I was a mess of trust issues and who knows what else, and taking a sledgehammer to that crap can end really, really badly. But it’s the one she took, because that’s what she could do. This woman has taken in so many kids, and the fact that I tripped her up that bad?” He shakes his head, sighing softly. “Made me realize that she wasn’t this...this perfect mom, this perfect foster mom, whatever. She was just a woman, trying really, really hard to make sure her kids were okay. She didn’t get to pick from the best options, and she didn’t make the best choices all the time. But she tried. And she got lucky sometimes, failed others, and I know that eats at her, even as the kids she managed to help flood her house.”

“Which is a really, really long winded way of saying: cut yourself some slack. Being a parent fucking sucks sometimes, no matter how you get into it, and the fact that you got into it they way you did? You’re doing okay. And sometimes it takes a lot to let yourself be just okay. Don’t sweat it.”

“...I don’t think you can wrap that up like that.” And they’re both ignoring that both their voices are thick.

“Just did, deal with it.”

“Real mature.”

“You know it.”

“...Hey Hardison?”

“Yeah?”

“...Thanks.”

“Anytime, E. Anytime.”

* * *

The rest of the evening’s...lighter. Neither feel much of a need to move from the couch, or from how close they’re sitting together, and everything kind of just slows down while they relax. About the only excitement they get into is when they try to decide between more Terminator or something more recent. Eliot’s not exactly sure how he lost that argument, but he’s chalking it up to his head still being thick and groggy.

Parker slips in no too long after, a conked out Molly on her shoulder. It takes a moment for Eliot to take in the fact that Parker’s hair is up in a messy braid—one he recognizes, because Molly is definitely getting better, but she’s still six, and her hands are still a little uncooperative with the finer attempts at dexterity—and that Molly is  _ sleeping _ .

Parker doesn’t actually say anything at first, instead dropping the backpack by the couch and then heading down the hall to put Molly to bed.

When she gets back, she claims the couch cushion on the other side of Eliot, apparently deciding his personal space is her personal space, much like her boyfriend did earlier. He can’t really find it in himself to complain. “Got her to eat some of Nana’s soup, and we have enough to put some in your fridge later. Gave her a dose of nyquil about an hour ago, and she’s been breathing easy since.”

“...Any tantrums?”

Parker shakes her head, then pauses and tilts her head. “Pouting because I can’t braid like you count?”

Eliot snorts around a laugh, shifting so he can stretch both his arms around the back of the couch. Hardison doesn’t seem to mind the movement, and Parker just pulls her legs up onto the couch to tuck her feet under her. “Nah. She gets mad when I can’t do her hair exactly like we saw on youtube sometimes. Not my fault they have a couple hours and I’ve got fifteen minutes and she won’t sit still.” He’s grumbling, but he knows he’s smiling too, and the fond look from Hardison and the eye roll from Parker confirms it.

“Where’d you learn how to braid like that anyway?” Parker asks, all curious,  and Eliot blinks.

“Uh...good question. No idea.” Eliot shrugs, and Parker huffs at him. “Sorry. It wasn’t something like. My ma taught me or anything. Had a buzz cut all through high school.” He can see Hardison squinting at him from out of the corner of his eyes, and then pulling a face. “Excuse you, I looked fine.”

Hardison’s not even trying to be subtle when he smiles and nods to Eliot, before making eye contact with Parker and shaking his head.

“...’cause you know all about hairstyles, huh, Hardison?” Eliot asks, snorting when Hardison lets out an offended sound, hand shooting up to run over his hair for a second.

“I’ll have you know that yes, indeed I do. What part of horde of siblings are you still missing? You think Nana had time to manage all those heads of hair? Hell nah. We got recruited and learned right quick. And I was very good at it, thank you very much.”

“Uh-huh, I’m sure.”

“Probably better than you, if you’re still learning from youtube.”

“You little-”

“Boys! Easy solution. Let Molly decide.” He blinks at Parker, sees Hardison doing the same out of the corner of his eyes. But then they’re both grinning.

“Deal.”

* * *

There’s a quiet conversation, much, much later, when Eliot’s half asleep, and Hardison’s hanging on by what Eliot’s sure is pure spite, where Parker looks at him seriously, eyes hard and bright.

And Eliot can’t bring himself to shrink away, though her gaze is more intense than he’s seen it in a long time.

But then she starts talking about Archie. And Eliot’s not even surprised that she already knows everything he told Hardison. Doesn’t surprise him in the least that Hardison managed to text her, in the middle of the evening, though when and how long that would’ve taken he has no idea.

But he learns that Parker was a kid in the system too, had bounced around as much if not more than Hardison, but she never ended up settled anywhere that felt like home.

He learns that Archie found Parker when she was seventeen, barely five months before her eighteenth birthday. That he took one look at her stubborn face from the other side of interrogation room two-way glass, and decided not to press charges for stealing his car. How he worked to keep her out of another stint in juvie, and then out of jail as the prosecutor tried to have her judged as an adult.

How he met her on the court steps and told her, if she wanted, he had a place she could stay until she got on her feet.

He wasn’t her dad, never really tried to be, except in random moments that ranged from making sure she had a birthday party to celebrate turning eighteen to buying the shop she currently worked at. Otherwise, interacting with him was...weird. For both of them. She’s pretty sure offering her a home was a split second decision he never really thought through, and her accepting was just as thoughtless. It’s been nine years, and they’re still trying to figure out how to interact with each other, beyond the grand gestures of security and interest. He’s trying. She’s trying. It doesn’t quite work, and he’s not quite her dad.

But trying works for them. Trying gave her a start to something she never thought she’d get.

“Trying doesn’t mean it works. Doesn’t mean it fails either. Just means you gotta work it out, that’s all.”

“...Y’all gotta stop with the mindreading. Really.”

“Psssh, you love it.”

“Says who?”

“Says you. Say you don’t to my face Eliot. Go on, do it.”

“...Are we watching the movie or no?” And Hardison laughs at him, and Parker snorts that endearing giggle of hers. They both settle into his sides, like sitting like this with a friend is completely normal, and if they’re not going to question it, neither is he, not with the weight of everything both of them have said; not with how much both of them have done to lift the weight that’s been sitting in his chest for two years now.

He’s not stupid enough to think that that weight’s gone. Not completely, and likely not ever. (He has no doubt he’ll be watching Molly at ten, twenty, thirty, and hurting,  _ aching _ , for everything that could’ve been, everything he could’ve done differently or better or...or, well everything). But for now, he’s got a bit of help lifting it, and that these two did it without prompting, just fucking barged through his door  _ again _ …

He doesn’t know what to do with the warm feeling in his chest, but he’s got a pretty good idea where it’s going to end up. And while it’s fucking terrifying…

He can’t wait.


	7. Chapter 7

_ Hardison _

 

It’s not that things change, after the mess of Eliot and Molly being sick.

Because of course they do. Him and Parker had woken up the next morning, still tucked in close to Eliot, who was apparently content to just. Sit there. Because they ended up using his arms as pillows and he didn’t want to wake them.

It should’ve been awkward. Should’ve been funny. Instead, it just felt...normal. There was no realization, no thunderclap.

They all just yawned, while Eliot snorted and gently shoved at them now that they were awake. Asked what they wanted for breakfast.

They told him he shouldn’t be up and about if he was still sick, and he definitely shouldn’t be around food. And Eliot had just raised an eyebrow at them.

Which is about the time Parker forcefully kicked him back to the couch and went to make pancakes. And all Eliot could really do was shake his head in disbelief, and tell her to keep it down so Molly could sleep as late as possible, like she hadn’t already been thinking that. 

Molly ends up shuffling down the hall about the time the pancakes are coming off the stove, and while her voice is still scratchy and there’s definitely a coughing fit or two, the full night of rest has done her some good, and she’s looking better than she was yesterday.

Breakfast is a quiet thing. Easy and soft, in a way Hardison can’t really bring himself to look at too closely. They promise to bring over more of Nana’s chicken soup later that night, but until then, they say their goodbyes.

Again, it’s not that things change.

It’s not that the dinners are almost a nightly thing, after that. It’s not that, frequently enough on weekends and the occasional weeknight, they’ll fall asleep on the couch, after one of them has put Molly down for the night (her and Hardison are making some amazing headway on  _ The Hobbit _ , and Hardison can’t wait to go find his old copies of  _ The Fellowship of the Ring _ to read to her next; Parker’s apparently a really good fantasy story teller when you get her going, though neither Hardison nor Eliot quite remembers Cinderella ending like  _ that _ ; and neither Hardison nor Parker will admit to melting a little each time they hear Eliot quietly helping her make up her own stories). Since they didn’t freak out about waking up on the couch the next morning the first time, it never really occurs to any of them to do so after. Hardison knows its weird. He just really, really doesn’t care.

It’s not that Molly is just as likely to want to snuggle with Hardison or Parker when she stays up with all of them. It’s not that Eliot vents to them about her school, about work, almost like he’s holding it in until they get there in the evenings. It’s not that Parker barely swings into their apartment after work before dragging Hardison over to Eliot’s, if he’s not already there.

It’s not even that the casual touches are getting easier and more frequent, or the crinkly smile in Eliot’s eyes is getting more common, or that Hardison’s never seen Parker this bright and open, or that he knows Parker’s watching him and seeing just how relaxed and at ease he is, has been since this whole thing started.

It’s that, at some point, they have to actually acknowledge what’s going on.

And Hardison doesn’t know how to start that conversation.

He doesn’t know how to talk to Parker about the fact that, when they had to take a break from hanging out with Eliot and Molly when they went up to visit Nana for Thanksgiving, while he had fun, he also missed the quiet of Eliot’s apartment, the loud boom of Molly’s laugh that only came rarely, when it was earned. He found himself wondering how Molly would get along with the younger kids running around Nana’s house. Found himself wondering how Nana would react to Eliot (and vice versa). How she would react to all three of them.

He doesn’t know how to ask if this is something Parker’s feeling too, or if she’s comfortable as it is, or if she’d be comfortable with the desire slowly curling in his gut.

It’s not that he thinks Parker will react badly. Far from it—Parker’s always been the one questioning the rules and insisting they make their own way of things.

It’s that he literally doesn’t know how to approach the conversation.

Good thing Parker figures it out first.

* * *

_ Parker _

 

She knows Hardison’s freaking out. Over what isn’t hard to figure out either.

She just can’t really figure out why he’s  _ freaking out _ .

Things have gotten better, with them, and Eliot and Molly. Things have gotten so much better, that Parker’s not exactly surprised to find herself thinking of home while she’s at work, and she doesn’t see just the apartment, but she sees Eliot’s kitchen too. Sees Molly drawing on the coffee table. Sees Hardison stretched out on the couch, listening to Molly’s latest story, while still managing to bicker back at forth with Eliot about what should be for dinner. Sees herself, in Eliot’s space, trying to sneak food off the chopping board, and dancing away with a laugh when he makes a half-hearted swipe at her.

And she knows Hardison sees it too, in his own way.

“We need to talk.” Hardison startles slightly from where he’d been focusing on something on his laptop—probably something from Nate, who was finally,  _ finally _ , easing Hardison off his enforced vacation, sending him files and asking for his help again. Slowly, but surely.

He looks up at her though, brow furrowed in confusion. Probably trying to figure out if something happened recently, or if anything could’ve happened in the realm of ‘what-if’ to prompt her sudden declaration.

“...About Eliot?” And his eyes go wide, and Parker knows she has his attention.

They hadn’t been able to go over to Eliot’s tonight. He was working late at the school, had already asked Amy if she could watch Molly, since, according to him “they needed a night to themselves” or something like that. She’s pretty sure it was a logical reason. Didn’t mean she liked it all that much. Though it did make this conversation a lot easier.

“Uh…” Parker rolls her eyes and pats the couch beside where she’s sitting crosslegged. Hardison takes a moment, either psyching himself up or catching up to the conversation as a whole, but does eventually come over, sitting down facing her, mirroring her.

“...What about Eliot?” Okay, so that’s how they were going to play it.

“...Remember when we first got together,” And Hardison’s eyes immediately go sweet, a small smile curving up his lips, and Parker has to pause to lean over to steal a too-sweet kiss, because how can she not when he’s like  _ that _ ? “And we decided we’d do things our way? Even if that meant it took a couple months for me to decide pretzels would be okay, no matter what shape they came in?” They still had that stupid pretzel bowl, stolen from the pub in Boston, sitting proudly on the shelf in their bedroom. It was so small a thing, Hardison telling her she could take her time, and when she was ready—when they were  _ both _ ready—those damn pretzels the pub never seemed to run out of would be right there to take, in whatever way they wanted to.

Hardison’s nodding along, but his face is scrunching up. Parker doesn’t mind—he’s thinking things through, trying to follow her train of thought. “Well, I think...I think Eliot’s kind of like that. I don’t think he’s going anywhere, anytime soon. And I think we could continue what we’re doing, because it’s...it’s-” She pauses slightly there, fingers twitching as she hesitates on the word.

“...Right?” Hardison offers, voice low and heavy enough that she knows he’s thinking the word the same way she is. Everything’s easy, everything’s normal, because it’s just  _ right _ .

“But I think it could...it could be more, you know? If...if we wanted. And if Eliot wanted that too. Do you think he does?” There’s very little doubt in most of her little speech, and Parker’s pretty proud of that. But that last question...she hadn’t been thinking it until it left her mouth, and that’s about where the doubt started to creep in. Because she knew how she felt. Had a pretty good idea how Hardison felt. But they didn’t...they didn’t really know how Eliot felt about any of this. Maybe this was just how he was with his friends? And they just hadn’t seen it, wrapped up in their own little bubble as they were and-

“Hey, Parker. Need you to breathe, mama. Focus back on me, yeah?” And Parker does, takes in a sharp breath and nods.

They can ask. They can always ask. But they need to figure out the thing between them first.

One step, then the other.

“Okay, so what I’m hearing you want is…?” He prompts, and Parker nods.

“I want Eliot to...be with us. If he wants to. If you want to.”

Hardison eyes her for a long moment, before a bright smile stretches over his face, hard enough to crinkle his bright eyes, and make her heart want to burst.

“Yeah, I’d like that, too.”

And Parker’s about ready to go find Eliot right that second, and she knows from the way Hardison’s still smiling, morphed now into wide-eyed excitement, he is too, but he gently grabs her arm before she gets a chance to move.

“Wait, we still got something else to talk about.”

Parker frowns at him, running back through the conversation.

“...About Molly? ‘Cause, babe, I know we said eventually we’d like to adopt, in like. The future-future. But we do this, Molly’s right there. And we’re not going to be Eliot’s first priority, not while she’s still so young and they’re still building themselves up, hell, possibly not ever, depending on the issue. But, if it works out, that big, big ‘if’, in the pretty distant future, we’d still be auditioning for the rolls of co-parents.” He holds up his hand when Parker opens her mouth to speak, and Parker huffs but snaps her mouth shut to let him finish, “I know Molly’s as much  _ right  _ as Eliot is, I know that, I feel exactly the same way, alright? But...we’ve decided we wanted kids in the future. We do this, we got a kid  _ now _ , and figuring out where we stand with her is gonna be a challenge on its own.”

Parker’s quiet for a long couple of moments, giving the question the thought it deserves. Sure, she’d agreed with Hardison that eventually they’d like to adopt a couple of kids. But that future had had things like houses with yards, a retired Archie, regular flights out to see Nana just ‘cause they were in a stable enough spot to do so. That future had the glamour to it that Parker hadn’t really ever been able to grab onto, too surreal and shiny and nice and  _ perfect _ .

“I think…” She pauses, chewing at her lip for a second. “I’m not saying this because I’m taking it lightly, but we both told Eliot the point was to  _ try _ , right? This whole thing may blow up in our faces. May not be right for any of us. But unless it ends horribly, we wouldn’t just leave Molly, right?”

“Of course not.” Hardison agrees without pausing.

“Then I think...I think I’d be okay with it, you know? With trying, for her.”

And Hardison’s grinning that big, slow smile again, and Parker has to kiss him again, even if they’re both smiling too hard for it to work.

* * *

_ Hardison _

 

Hardison knows for a fact, they could’ve chosen a better time to ask.

But the last week had been one long waiting game, and they’d kind of just...broken.

Eliot had appeared at their door on Monday, rough and scraped raw at the edges, asking them to watch Molly while he went for a run. And Molly had been too quiet, but apparently resolute in putting on a strong face for Eliot.

They’d been better, both of them, by Tuesday night, enough so that Parker had been able to ask if Eliot was okay. He’d shaken it off—not as a dismissal of their worry, but as a dismissal of the cause. Told them that some nights, he just couldn’t sleep. And it was better to outdo the activity in his head, if he could, than to just sit around and stew. And sometimes, Molly picked up on it.

Hardison didn’t like the stoop to his shoulders, when he’d explained, and while he knew Eliot would accept a hug from him at this point (with over-loud complaining, even as his arms wrapped tight around him in return), he knew much further comforting wouldn’t be welcome because it...simply wasn’t his place, and it  _ hurt _ .

By Wednesday, things were back to normal, even if he now had an idea of just how deep the urge to add Eliot and Molly to him and Parker ran.

So, in his defense, popping a “So, would you maybe want to go out to dinner with me and Parker? Like. As a date?” on Friday that week made at least some sense. Some.

But Parker’s facepalming where she’s sitting on the other side of Eliot.

Eliot.

Who’s kind of just blinking at him.

Definitely not his smoothest moment, he’ll admit.

Its when Eliot doesn’t say  _ anything _ , that he starts getting worried.

It’s not that Eliot looks...angry or anything. Not even put out. Hell, if Hardison had to put a name to his expression, he might actually go with ‘confused’ or ‘thoughtful’. But he’d also seen Eliot make that same face while perfectly brunoise an onion without breaking eye contact, so clearly Hardison wouldn’t see it coming if he decided to punch him out of nowhere with that face.

“...I’m not saying no.” Is what Eliot eventually says, as he gets up from where he’d been sitting between them. Instead, he sits down on the edge of the coffee table, facing both of them.  “But it’s...it’s not that easy.”

Parker’s the first one to jump on  _ that _ . “What’s not? Yes or no, we’ll respect either choice.” And that last part is tacked on after a breath, and Hardison snorts to hide a smile. He knows she means it, of course, but it’s nice to see her actually voicing things like that now for people not quite as versed in Parker.

Eliot eyes her for a long moment, and Hardison knows that face, it’s his defensive face, and Hardison almost leans forward to try to get his attention before Eliot seems to forcibly make himself settle back down.

“If…” He shakes his head, starts again. “If it was just me? Yes. Fucking finally, yes.” And he grins at both Hardison and Parker’s surprised looks. “But with Molly…” He shakes his head again, his grin disappearing. “She loves you two to death, you know that? Those nights you’re not here, you’re all she wants to talk about. She’s really excited to show you her report card in a couple days. She’s been talking about inviting you to the school’s little art show—don’t get too excited. It’s a bunch of parents insisting their child’s the next Picasso.”

“I’m not sure I get your point here Eliot…” Hardison offers, though he actually has some small idea, which Eliot only confirms a moment later.

“If this ends, and not even necessarily ends badly, she’s gonna lose two people she loves, one way or another. It’s not fair to her to bring you two in, when she’s already...already so attached, you know?” And Eliot looks downright miserable, and Hardison knows just then that Eliot’s been thinking about this just as much, if not more, than they have.

“That’s fair, Eliot. Completely. But...why’re you going at this like it’s guaranteed to end?” Hardison asks after a long, quiet moment where they’re all clearly scrambling.

“That’s not...it’s not like I want to Hardison. But it’s something I have to consider, for her sake.”

“Told you, completely fair. But are you just planning on holding yourself off until she’s out of the house?”

“What? No! But-”

“So, at some point, she’s gonna meet people you date, and they might leave, they might not.”

“Well, yeah, but—Interrupt me again Hardison, I swear to god,” and Hardison should probably be offended, but there’s a ghost of a smile on Eliot’s lips, so he just holds up his hands and mimes zipping his mouth shut. “But she already knows you. Meeting a stranger a couple weeks after she finds out I’m dating, and them leaving, is a little different than dating two people she already loves, and then those two leaving.”

“...I know saying ‘ask the six-year-old’ is probably a cop out, since her understanding of things would be skewed but...is that an option?” Parker asks, tilting her head.

Eliot pauses, eyeing her over for a moment.

“And for what it’s worth Eliot? Even if it does end—and that’s a big ‘if’ that none of us really want to be thinking about—we promise you, we’ll be there for Molly in whatever way you’ll let us, and in whatever way she wants, best we can. We both know enough how it feels, adults coming and going. We wouldn’t do that to her, not if we could help it.” Hardison adds, when the silence stretches on a little longer.

And it seems all the fight in Eliot just...goes. His shoulders slump, his elbows end up on his knees, almost to support him, sitting slouched over like that, face in his hands.

“...y’all don’t play fair, you know that?” Hardison can  _ hear  _ the smile in his voice. Would be willing to be that if they pulled Eliot’s hands away, there’d be that same crinkly smile they’ve both grown to adore.

And Hardison shares a grin with Parker.

“Get used to it.” Hardison pauses. “Maybe. If that’s a yes.”

Eliot glances up at both of him through his fingers.

“It’s a definite maybe. Let me talk with Molly first, alright?”

Parker nods quickly, and Hardison just smiles. “Do you want us gone for the night then? Give you some space?”

And Eliot looks so relieved, Hardison knows he made the right choice in offering, even if getting up from that damn couch is a task in itself.

“I’ll let you know soon alright?” Eliot says at the door, and it’s so weirdly formal, him seeing them off at the door, that it almost makes Hardison’s skin itch. But Eliot needs space, and honestly, it wouldn’t be so bad for them either.

Parker surprises Eliot with a lightning quick hug that leaves him looking startled, before he’s laughing and shooing them out.

* * *

It takes two days before Eliot texts both of them a simple, “pick a day and a place,” and maybe the high-five is a little much (and the cheer definitely is), but they’ve got a date. With  _ Eliot _ . Hardison’s pretty sure they’re allowed to celebrate.


	8. Chapter 8

_ Eliot _

 

“That one looks silly.” Molly says, face scrunched up, even as she turns back to her coloring, spread out across the bed as it is.

“Silly huh? What about this one?” Eliot asks, holding up a black shirt instead of the blue one Molly had dismissed. Molly glances back up, squinting at first him, then the shirt.

“...No.”

“No? Just no? No reason?” He’s trying for exacerbated, and knows he’s failing fantastically, if Molly’s shark grin is anything to go by. And looking in the mirror, he knows he’s smiling too hard for it to pass anyway. “Okay, what about the white? That pass your judgement, you little diva?” And Molly just shrugs, not even looking up this time.

White it is.

He’d told Hardison and Parker to pick a place, and a time, and they’d decided Monday night because neither of them (or him, who was he kidding) were patient enough to wait much longer than that. They wouldn’t tell him where they were actually going, just to look casually nice. No t-shirts, but no ties either. He could manage that.

And while staring in the mirror, trying to figure out if his shirt was buttoned correctly, or if his hair looked okay, he was dealing with major deja vu, remembering high school dates and his fumbling attempts on leave, and how he’d been nervous and giddy and excited and  _ nervous _ , all of it mixing in his gut and making him vaguely nauseous. Which is why Molly was, somewhat, helping him pick out his outfit. Hard to get dragged back into a high school mindset when the toddler behind him reminded him quite firmly that he was anywhere but high school, thank god.

Molly had been absolutely delighted when he’d talked to her, about him possibly dating Hardison and Parker. And he knew she would be. It was everything  _ around  _ the delight he was a little more worried about.

He’s not sure how much she understood about the connection between Eliot dating and her having more authority figures in her life if things worked out. Her memory of her parents was fuzzy, even if Eliot tried to combat it whenever he could, always answering her questions, telling her stories about them, making sure the pictures they’d taken of her as a baby with them were prominent in her room, but he knew she mostly remembered...well, him. Him and her. One parent, one kid.

Suddenly shifting to three parents, if they made it that far, was going to be a stretch, no matter how emphatically she insisted to him that it was okay because Hardison and Parker were the “best, Eliot! They’re the best!”

He also knew that the idea of this ending badly probably wasn’t even on her radar (thankfully). There was nothing but trust there, that Hardison and Parker would be there, somehow, someway. He doubted she even thought of it like that, so much as had an idea that that’s just the way the world worked.

(He kind of envied her for it.)

But looking at all of this and...and worrying about it failing wasn’t the way to go about it. So, he looks back in the mirror for a moment. Decides against a hair tie (Molly had very kindly offered to braid it for him, but he’d had to tell her that maybe they could do that some other time), straightens out his shirt one more time, before turning back to Molly.

“Think this’ll do, munchkin?”

Molly pauses her coloring, glancing up and eyeing him over. It’s one of the most serious looks he’s ever seen on her, and he carefully schools his face before he busts out laughing.

The smile he feels stretching across his face is nothing he can stop though when she gives him two thumbs up.

She squeals when he scoops her up to blow a raspberry into her belly, wriggling and laughing, and he just has to hug her tight, under the guise of getting her closer to tickle her, of course (and maybe it’s not entirely a ruse, because he’ll never get tired of her laughing).

When the knock comes at the door, they’re both thoroughly winded, and Molly’s still giggling, and Eliot has to take a moment to try and straighten his hair back out, before he scoops Molly up onto his hip and goes to answer the door. It should be Amy, who had essentially told him “Frikken finally! Get me cookie dough and I’ll hang out with Molly all night if it gets out you of the apartment on an actual damn date!” when he’d asked her to babysit.

Of course, it’s not. Instead, when he opens the door, he’s gifted with the sight of Hardison in a dark suit jacket and a sharp red shirt, all lean lines and warm eyes, beautiful in the light, and Parker just beside him, having gone for a complicated black top with cut outs across her collarbone and matching black pants that make her look statuesque and stunning.

Eliot maybe almost drops Molly. Maybe.

And the butterflies and nerves are back, and even holding Molly isn’t enough to banish them.

And then Hardison’s giving him that goofy grin of his, and Parker’s smile is its usual crooked delight.

“Ready to go?” Hardison asks, being incredibly kind and not laughing when Eliot takes a moment to remember how to work his jaw.

“Uh-yeah, right, almost. Let me go get Amy-”

There’s a whistle behind Hardison and Parker, and when they part, speak of the devil, there’s Amy. Eyeing them all over appreciatively, and Eliot’s definitely not blushing dammit.

(But Hardison definitely is, and it’s adorable.)

“You three are going to cause heart attacks tonight, you realize that right?” And Eliot just rolls his eyes and hands Molly over as soon as Amy’s in reach. Amy is definitely laughing at him at this point, but thankfully keeps it to herself.

“We’ll be back-”

“Late. You’ll be back late. Now go, have fun already!” Amy says, making a shooing motion at them that has all three of them laughing easier.

Before he can go, he of course has to make his pinky promise to Molly that he’ll be back later.

He shouldn’t be surprised when Molly then reaches for Hardison and Parker, pinky out, face determined. Hardison looks...awed, is the best way Eliot can think to put it, and Parker just looks pleased with absolutely everything. They both fumble through the pinky promise, and Amy’s not even bothering to hide that she’s laughing at all of them now.

“Cookie dough’s in the fridge. A lot of it. Please do not use all of it.”

“No promises. Good night!” And with that the door’s closed in his face.

“...Guess we have her blessing.” Hardison’s trying not to laugh. Not managing too well, but he’s trying. 

Eliot just has to shake his head at the ridiculousness of all of it. “And if we don’t move, she will come out here and actually kick us all out the door. So I suggest we go.” Hardison grins at him, and Parker’s already walking, looking back at the two of them like they need to hurry up.

* * *

He doesn’t know what he was nervous about, honestly.

The two of them had chosen a quiet little italian place, Palermo's, tucked out of the way. More impressively, it’s someplace Eliot hasn’t been before.

The lighting's warm and golden, the tables and booths tucked away in their own little spaces enough that, even though the place is crowded, even for a Monday night, it’s not too hard to let the surrounding tables melt away once they sit down.

It’s every cliche of a first date ever, and Eliot loves it immediately. And continues to love it, even when him and Hardison end up bickering over appropriate wine pairings while Parker laughs at him. Even when Parker and Hardison end up bickering about how they can’t have desert first because date night dinners ‘have a system’.

(They end up getting dessert along with dinner as a compromise, and Eliot spends most of the night smiling so hard it hurts.)

* * *

Eliot never expected things to end up like this.

This? This was not Eliot’s fault.

In any way, shape, or form. But, blaming his six-year-old was a couple shades of unfair. Even if  there wouldn’t be a ‘this’ if she hadn’t gotten overly curious about the new neighbors. If she hadn’t dragged him over to the park that day. If he hadn’t needed someone to watch her on short notice. But, again, blaming the six-year-old wasn’t fair.

So, he blamed the neighbors. Which he felt was honestly the best choice, all things considered. 

He glanced down to where Parker was curled up on his left side, tucked up under his arm, legs curled up under her after she’d kicked off her heels for the night, and then over to where Hardison was pretending to be smooth (who still did the yawn and arm stretch thing? Hardison, that’s who) as he settled his arm around Eliot’s shoulders.

They’d wandered back to the apartment after nearly closing down the restaurant, and Eliot was so warm and tired and  _ happy _ , it hadn’t even occurred to him that this was where most dates said good night.

Instead, like they usually did, Hardison and Parker had joined him on the couch, ready to end the night with a dumb movie they could all argue about and laugh at.

So, yeah. This was completely their fault.

(Completely his fault though, when he leaned down to catch Parker’s lips in a kiss still sugar-sweet from the tiramisu she’d insisted on ordering as actual desert, and when, turning to Hardison, he couldn’t help but try to kiss that stupidly fond little smile off his face. It didn’t work, but damn did he try.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are always loved, you have no idea!
> 
> If you want, come say hi on [tumblr](http://distinctivelibrarians.tumblr.com/), but either way, hope you enjoyed it! ^^


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